Where I Belong
by romanceatheart2011
Summary: Rewritten chapter posted A misunderstanding on D'artagnan's part makes him doubt his place with his friends and in Paris. However, D'artagnan realizes his mistake with a talk later with Athos, Porthos and Aramis. To prove that he still cares for them on his part, D'artagnan once again does the unexpected than what the others expect, which solidifies his place in Paris and them.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey everyone! I am so sorry for taking so long to update Reflection *dodges tomato*, for not putting in the effort to work harder *dodges box full of tomatoes*, and for just not updating at all *dodges truck full of tomatoes*. *wide-eyed look* Who the hell threw that truck?!**

**Anywho people, enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: C'mon, ya'll should know me by now. I don't own a damn thing.  
_**

D'artagnan had never really given much thought as to what his life would be like once he had arrived into Paris to become a musketeer. Sure, he knew that he would have to go through tough training before he could become an official musketeer, and possibly even get into a couple of fights either with the local drunkards or even with the Cardinal's guards. Hell, he even knew of the possibility that the musketeer corps were not accepting fresh recruits, so he would have to get a job in the meantime. He was no stranger to hard work having grown up on a farm all his life, so he had no complaints about possibly getting another job for now.

What he didn't count on was the musketeer corps being disbanded because of the Cardinal who wanted the throne of France for himself, or that the Cardinal's guards would terrorize the citizens of Paris and egg on the musketeers on purpose in hopes of getting them arrested. He also didn't count on somebody trying to kill him before he even reached Paris (even though he was well within his right to challenge the man; nobody spoke ill of Buttercup and got away with it). He especially didn't count on meeting the infamous Three Musketeers that his father told stories about when he was a boy. Nor did he consider that he would end up rooming with them during his time in Paris. He also didn't expect his first mission to be retrieving the queen's diamonds to clear her name and save her life along with the future of France; and he wasn't even a musketeer yet! But overall, the number one thing he didn't count on when he got to Paris was his roommates to give a damn about him. Honestly, why would three seasoned soldiers care about a wet-behind-the-ears boy who wanted to play with the big boys? According to them he was hot-headed, reckless, impetuous, had more lives than a cat, and had a fairly good chance of being dead by the end of the day. And yet they defended him at every turn against the Cardinal's guards and other enemies, they took bullets and knives that were meant for him, they helped him win over Constance's heart (well, two of them did), and were there for him at every point in his life whether it was said or happy.

Aramis and Porthos had both been there for him when he was at his lowest point in life, which he wasn't surprised about. The two of them were very easy going men, Porthos more so than Aramis, and D'artagnan had found it easy for him to be able to talk and get along with them. Athos, on the other hand, was a different sack of apples. The man drank more than any other person D'artagnan had met or seen before in his life, he was ill-tempered, grumpy, and always seemed to prefer to be by himself. Not to mention the face that he kept his secrets wrapped up in him more tightly than the Cardinal's purse strings. It was this attitude that prevented D'artagnan from having a proper conversation with Athos.

Not that the boy expected Athos to have the patience to listen to him or even the want to listen to a child when he could very well talk to other men his own age on topics that they could relate to and hold a proper conversation about. The first few days of living with them were the hardest for D'artagnan; that was when he had bared the brunt of Athos' surliness at its max. His attitude seemed to have cleared up a bit during their mission to retrieve Queen Anne's diamonds, but after that mission since Aramis helped him dress the injuries he received from his fight with Rochefort Athos' attitude seemed to get worse again. D'artagnan believed that he had found someplace he could call his home-away-from-home to stave off missing his parents, but the way Athos was acting made him feel like he was intruding. After all the three men had been rooming with each other long before D'artagnan came into their lives, so it would only make sense that they would feel like he was invading. He had considered leaving at one point in time, but Athos had surprised him into staying.

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D'artagnan had just finished an escort mission to Spain when the thunder clouds started to slowly move in. Eager to beat them home before it started raining hard enough to flood the roads D'artagnan rode hard for three days and three nights, his rental horse whom he had named Alexandre **(1) **extremely tired at the end of each day. Buttercup had finally started acting her sixteen years of age, and D'artagnan was forced to put her out to the pasture so to speak. His client rode Buttercup till they got to his farm where he dropped her off with his parents. Though they had been surprised to see her, his parents had missed Buttercup as well and knew that it was time for her to retire. The client had ridden with D'artagnan the rest of the trip to Spain.

It was on the final day that D'artagnan's luck had run out. IT first started out with the rain; it had started coming down in bucketfuls in the early hours of the morning, reducing the boy's vision to almost zero and making the ground extremely muddy. On top of that D'artagnan and Alexandre were almost completely exhausted from the riding, and were starving as well. Even though D'artagnan had given every last bit of food he had to the horse they were both still hungry for more. The cherry on top of the proverbial pile of crap D'artagnan had to deal with came in the form of highwaymen looking to score their next deal. Exhausted from the mission, riding and rain D'artagnan was barely able to defeat them before they ran off. It was not without consequence though as one of the highwaymen managed to get a clean cut across the boy's ribs as they fled. His side burning in unbelievable pain, his strength waning faster and faster as he continued his journey home, he was able to make it inside the city walls before he and Alexandre collapsed and welcomed the darkness.

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Random voices swam through D'artagnan's mind as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The combination of near starvation, exhaustion form the mission, pain from his injuries, and fever from the rain brought him awake long enough to hear the outside world only to pull him back out like waves hitting the shore.

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In

"…_the hell is…Monsieur Treville, go…hang in there boy…"_

Ah, looks like some musketeers had found him at last. Good thing it was not some of the Cardinal's guards; he knew they would have spit on his body before continuing on their merry way. They probably would have gone into the first tavern they found to celebrate his "demise" as well. His mind began blanking out as warmth began to spread throughout his body.

Out

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In

"…_the hell is…blasted doctor, what good are you if…come on now boy…even apologize…you little shit…keep us young…"_

That had to be Porthos; no one else called his "little shit" before in his life ever since he came to Paris. D'artagnan's heart ached with guilt and sadness at hearing Porthos' normally laughing voice sound so serious and upset over his well being. He wanted to console the man but he was unable to as his mind swept him away again.

Out

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In

"…_never said one for a friend…so worried about you…going crazy…gave us quite a fright…wake up…"_

Aramis. D'artagnan's always calm and collected friend sounded anything but. The only one other time D'artagnan had seen Aramis look unhinged was when he and the others thought Porthos had come down with tuberculosis. Even though it turned out to be just a simply very bad cold D'artagnan had never forgotten the stricken look of terror on the priest's face. The boy knew what his friend must look like right now: worried face trying to be hidden, wringing hands, light sweat on his body, rumpled clothes. D'artagnan tried to reach out for Aramis to comfort him like Porthos but his body felt heavy like before and the darkness swept him away again before he could.

Out

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In

…_scared right now…so worried…miss you so much…waiting for you…need you to be okay…love you, my heart…"_

His angel. His life. Constance. The sound of her voice alone was enough to strengthen him and destroy him all at the same time. It gave him the strength to fight for his life and to want to get better to see her again, yet it ate at his insides ferociously to hear the scared and upset tone sin her voice. And it killed him ever more to know that he had been the one to make her feel that way, and that he couldn't even sit up to chase her sadness away.

Out

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In

"…_much too young…brave, foolish boy...have to tell your father…give me gray hairs…get better lad…"_

Was that Monsieur Treville? What was he doing visiting D'artagnan when he had never done so before? And what was that bit about telling his father? That made D'artagnan begin to panic; his father had enough to worry about at home with taking care of his mother without needing to know that his son was laid up in bed. D'artagnan tried to open his mouth to tell Monsieur Treville that he was alright, that he didn't need to write to D'artagnan's father but he cursed in his head when he realized that his body was still too weak and tired for him to even move.

Out

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In

"…_stupid fool…naïve boy…kill him…taken care of…burden on all of us…too much trouble…cause problems…"_

Athos. Of course. Who else besides the Cardinal and his guards wasn't afraid to criticize everything that he did? Damn it all, it hurt D'artagnan to know that Athos still didn't see him as anything more than that immature boy that first crashed into him. Even though had wouldn't admit it D'artagnan had come to see Athos as a second father; someone who taught him about life, how to be a man, to know that in the company of friends he doesn't have to pretend to be strong. And most of all, crying is not a weakness for a man; it just proves that he has still embraced his human side. This time D'artagnan willed himself back to sleep so as to not listen to Athos' cutting words; he just hoped that the grief he felt in his heart didn't cause to cry outwardly.

Out

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This time when D'artagnan came to, his body didn't feel as heavy as it did the other times. He slowly opened his heavy eyes, squinting against the small light that was in the room, but it was still bright enough to irritate his eyes. Blinking a few times he turned his head and was greeted with the sight of Athos sleeping with his head in his arms on the bed. He was surprised; Athos had done nothing but complain about him being a burden and an all around pain in the ass when he was awake enough to listen. Yet here he was, lying next to D'artagnan as though waiting for him to wake up. He shook his head mentally at that; no way was Athos worried about him enough to stay by his bed, or at all for that matter. He turned away hoping the man would sleep longer, and so he would also put off Athos giving him a lecture he didn't need to hear.

Looking around himself he caught sight of Aramis and Porthos sleeping as well in positions that had to be uncomfortable for them. Aramis must have first went to sleep with his head in his arms on top of the writing desk, but sometime during the night his body tried to unconsciously lay down flat, and so pushed his chair out far enough so that only the side of his face rested on the desk. His arms hung almost to the floor and his back was arched almost painfully. He mouth was open slightly and he had a small puddle of drool starting to form. Porthos' position didn't look any better. He was reclining on a couch next to the door, but he had suck so low on the couch that the only things keeping him from falling to the floor were his arms on the back of the couch. He was already a big man as it was on a small couch but his butt was now perched on the edge of the couch with his legs spread out in from of him. His head was tilted back so he faced the ceiling, his mouth hanging open and snoring up a thunderstorm.

A smile twitched at D'artagnan's lips at the absurdity of his friends; he gave a small chuckle when Porthos shifted a bit in his sleep and managed to catch himself before he fell off, but that turned out to be a big mistake as his dry throat suddenly flamed with pain. Of course being unconscious for as long as he had been had dried his mouth and throat out, which resulted in a very violent coughing fit first to relieve the tickle in his throat caused by the laugh, then to try and catch his breath.

As though somebody had lit firecrackers under their butts the Three Inseparables all jumped up in alarm at the sudden break in silence. Athos tried to sit up and jump to his feet at the same time and ended up falling to the side of the bed before hitting the floor. Porthos tried to sit up on the couch but considering how close he was to the edge he immediately fell on his ass with a loud 'THUMP'! Aramis tried to push himself up thinking he was still sleeping on his arms, but ended up falling face first into the carpet. Watching his friends brought a fresh round of painful laughter from D'artagnan as his throat flared anew and his injured side started throbbing with pain.

"D'artagnan?! Thank God!" Porthos and Aramis both rushed towards their friend but ran into each other instead and went down once again, bringing fresh tears of pain and mirth from the boy as he tried to cough and laugh at the same time. Athos got himself to his feet with no problem and immediately barked at the other two.

"Quit moving you idiots, and then get up slowly!" he said when he caught sight of the tears in the boy's eyes. Good God how hurt was the boy still after all the sleep he had gotten? Aramis and Porthos both pulled chairs up as they watched Athos rub the boy's back as he caught his breath.

D'artagnan took several deep breaths to calm his body down and swallowed a few times to moisten his dry throat. He dropped back onto the pillow, exhausted from his coughing fit.

"Water," he managed to croak out.

He was surprised when none of them barked out an order to Planchet, but Athos immediately stood up and walked over to the table behind him where there was a jug and four cups sitting on it. D'artagnan grimaced as he realized he would have to sit up. Ignoring the hand Aramis placed on his shoulder to steady him D'artagnan slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard for support. He accepted the glass from Athos and when he went to chug the water down Athos grabbed his wrist.

"Slowly boy," he said his voice as firm as the grip on D'artagnan's wrist, "you just got over a fever; we don't need you getting sick again." He released D'artagnan's wrist and watched him carefully as he drank the water in slow, gentle sips. When he finished the water there was an awkward silence that fell over the men as the older three stared at D'artagnan while he fixed his gaze firmly on the cup he clutched in his hands.

"How long have I been out?" he asked softly, the burn in his throat gone.

"Two weeks," said Aramis just as quietly, "between the infection from your injuries and the fever you sustained, your body was under a lot of stress as it was healing itself."

D'artagnan's grip on the cup tightened.

"Have my parents been told anything?"

"Monsieur Treville was going to give you another three days before he would write to your mother and father," said Porthos, "But at least now he won't have to."

There was another tense silence that followed. The other three wanted to ask D'artagnan what had happened on his mission, but were worried of pushing the boy's energy too quickly. Again it was D'artagnan who broke the silence.

"Where are we exactly?" he asked as he looked around the elaborate room. Now that he took a second glance around, he saw that the room was elegantly decorated with paintings and sculptures.

"In a hidden room inside the Louvre. Your 'heart', Constance," Aramis smiled a little at the small blush that lit up the boy's cheeks, "insisted that we use this room to prevent the Cardinal's guards from attacking us while you recovered." D'artagnan smiled at the courage Constance must have shown to ensure the safety of his friends and himself.

"Do the king and queen know where we are?" he asked as he twisted his neck from side to side, trying to work the stiffness out.

"The queen does," said Athos as he studied the boy's exhausted body trying to stay awake, "and she hasn't told the king where we exactly, but she did tell him that we were somewhere safe while you healed."

D'artagnan frowned at that; how weak he must have been to get the queen to hide his body from the world in a secret room that only she knew while he recovered.

"I didn't realize that I would be causing so much trouble. It wasn't necessary for the queen to go this far in accommodations. Why not just put me up in Monsieur Treville's home? The Cardinal's guards aren't stupid enough to attack there."

His friends looked at each other, impressed with D'artagnan's logic

"Perhaps," said Porthos as he took the now empty cup from D'artagnan, "However, had we boarded you up in Treville's house the guards could have bribed or threatened the servants on the condition of your health, then lay and wait for you at the most opportune moment. Whereas here nobody in France, not even the Cardinal or the king, knows that this room even exists. This way you'll have the advantage against the guards."

D'artagnan opened his mouth to ask another question but all that came out was a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Go back to sleep boy," said Athos as he took the cup from Porthos and placed it on the table, "we'll have food brought in next time you wake up."

"Not tired though," groused D'artagnan even as he felt his body turn lethargic and Aramis guiding him back down to his pillow.

"if you're not tired then you must be feeling pretty damn lazy or bored to put yourself to sleep," joked Porthos, always the fool. He achieved his goal though as a small smile lit up D'artagnan's tired face. Right before he succumbed to the welcoming darkness he managed to get one more sentence out.

"Thanks…for…finding…me…" The last word was barely whispered loud enough for the others to hear as D'artagnan's breath evened out into gentle rhythms and he fell asleep.

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When D'artagnan woke again hours later, he was alone. Feeling much better than before he quickly sat up only to fall back down from a dizzy spell and the flare of pain from his forgotten injuries. When the world stopped spinning, D'artagnan sat up more slowly this time and checked his injuries. Somebody, he suspected Aramis, had changed the bandages.

The sudden combination of a growl and a twinge in his gut told D'artagnan that his stomach decided he slept long enough and was demanding food and that nature was calling him. After relieving himself in the available bucket and dumping its contents into the alley outside, he left it on the window sill to air out before slowly walking back to the bed so as to not jar his side. Once he settled back into bed against the headboard, he pulled the tray of food that had been left for him over and set it on his knees.

The smell was so delicious that D'artagnan knew if he had been standing when he removed the coverings on the plates his knees would have given out. Two, thick pork chops sautéed in butter and lemon and seasoned with garlic, salt, and pepper, cheesy mashed potatoes with salt and pepper, and an ear of corn with melted butter sat on the main plate. To the left was a smaller bowl of tomato soup with basil and oregano mixed in with four little crackers sitting on the side. To the right was an even smaller plate filled with bread slices and cheese slices. Above that was another plate the same size filled with vinegar and oil with cracked pepper and garlic on top, and a smaller bowl filled with melted butter. A bottle of wine, a jug of water, and two cups sat on the table where the tray had been **(2)**.

D'artagnan took his time savoring each bite despite the urge to scarf it all down as fast as he could. The last four weeks of not eating properly melted away little by little as D'artagnan slowly ate his fill. By the time he finished the food was all gone, the water jug was empty, the bottle of wine was three quarters empty, and D'artagnan felt full and sleepy again. After arranging his dirty dishes to be taken away and relieving his bladder one more time he crawled back into bed and fell asleep, happy to be home once again.

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The chirping and singing of the birds woke D'artagnan the following morning bright and early. He sat up to wipe the sleep from his eyes and they widened when he realized that he wasn't in pain anymore. He quickly jerked his shirt up and smiled widely when he saw only a faint scar amongst the pink flesh.

"You're awake." D'artagnan looked up and smiled at Aramis as he pulled his reading glasses off and set them with his book on the chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better. Does this little scar mean that I can finally get out of this room? I'm going crazy in here! I may have to put myself out of my misery just to end the pain! Oh, woe is me!" exclaimed D'artagnan dramatically as he thrust an imaginary knife into his chest and fell back onto his pillow, playful spasms and twitches violently dancing through his whole body. Aramis watched all this with great amusement and laughter threatening to break loose.

"Oh my, look at this," drawled Aramis in a bored voice as if he was used to seeing people stab themselves in front of him. "A dead body, and a rather handsome one at that. Whatever shall I do with it?" D'artagnan's lips twitched slightly as he struggled to keep still and in character. "A young man this handsome must have a lady friend out there. Oh dear, she will be so sadden by her lover's death. The news will have to be broken to her gently," continued Aramis as he slowly began to walk to the door, "and she will need a man's comfort to help wipe away her tears, draw her grief away for a short amount of time…"

D'artagnan couldn't keep still any longer. "The hell you will priest!" he shouted with a laugh as he charged Aramis' back.

The priest had been expecting D'artagnan to break character soon and was ready for the attack. He spun around at the last minute and caught the boy around the waist. D'artagnan wormed himself out of the priest's grip and made a second lunge at him, this time for a headlock. Aramis ducked under D'artagnan's outstretched arms and swept the boy's feet out from under hm. Quick as a cat pouncing on a mouse Aramis had D'artagnan flipped over on his stomach, his arms bound behind his back by one of Aramis' hand, and the priest sitting on his legs.

"Do you yield boy?" he mocked teasingly. D'artagnan shook his head.

"Ha! Not for all the gold in the world! Try harder than that," D'artagnan quirked back with a cocky smirk. Aramis merely arched an eyebrow and a mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The cocky smile D'artagnan had grew smaller at the look on Aramis' face and suddenly noticed the absence of the priest's second hand. D'artagnan's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Aramis don't you dare-" The rest of D'artagnan's warning was cut off as the boy bit his lips to prevent any noise from escaping him. Aramis dug his hand into the boy's side, his fingers dancing madly as he tried to get some noise out of D'artagnan.

"All you have to do is beg me to stop," said Aramis in a sing-song voice, "and we can get out of here and go join the festival."

D'artagnan shook his head despite the pain that was worsening in his stomach and his lip from biting it to stay quiet. He could finally hold it in no longer and allowed his mouth to fall open and let the sound out **(3)**.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Oh God! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Aramis please stop! Ha! Ha! Ha! I give! I give! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Just please stop! Ha! Ha!" D'artagnan managed to choke out between his laughter and tears. Indeed, Aramis had been tickling D'artagnan for the past two minutes straight while pinning him down so he couldn't escape. Hearing D'artagnan's cry of defeat Aramis released him and fluidly got to his feet. He smiled good- naturedly down at the defeated boy while he tried to catch his breath.

"You…are…a complete…and utter…bastard Aramis," panted D'artagnan as he got to his feet to face his friend who shrugged.

"Perhaps, but I'm a charming bastard."

D'artagnan merely rolled his eyes and took his cloak and hat from atop the dresser.

"So we're going to a festival right now?" he asked as he donned the two articles of clothing and pulled his gloves on, "what about Porthos and Athos?" He winced, hoping he didn't sound too eager about Athos. If Aramis noticed D'artagnan's tone he didn't comment on it.

"Porthos is on guard duty till one o'clock," said Aramis as they walked through the Louvre, "and Athos is taking care of some personal business in Calais. He'll probably be back by tonight." So that only gave D'artagnan a few hours to figure out why Athos said the things he said. The younger musketeer sighed as he rubbed his forehead.

"You okay?" asked Aramis.

"Yeah. Just eager to get out of here and back with civilization." Aramis raised an eyebrow but didn't push the subject. They came to the heavy oak doors of the Louvre but Aramis stopped his companion from opening them.

"D'artagnan." He waited for the boy to face him before giving him another warm smile. "Welcome home."

The boy said nothing, but the returned smile and slight sheen to his eyes were all the responses that Aramis needed.

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The festival taking place was actually in fact _Mardi Gras_ and it was in full swing when Aramis and D'artagnan stepped out onto the street. Everybody was dressed up to the nines in full elaborate costumes and masks of all colors and shapes. Feathers, jewels, ribbons and sequins decorated the masks and costumes making the wearers appear as though from another world. Gentlemen dressed in costumes from suave, debonair Casanovas that oozed charm and sex appeal to babbling, drunk clowns that had humor and sexual innuendo flowing from their mouths as easily as the wine they drank flowed in the opposite direction. Ladies were dressed as elegant, tasteful angels and dolls that made others afraid to touch them lest they be dirtied or broken to brash, fiery vixens that drew men to them like moths to a flame with a few sultry smiles and flirtatious winks. Children everywhere were dressed in either homemade outfits or ones that were rented out to them. There were multiple stalls where craftsmen and artists sold their work for adults and children, and stalls that had activities for the children to indulge themselves in. Craftsmen and artists sold straw- woven baskets and figurines, leather, pottery, jewelry, glass figurines, metal fake crowns and tiaras, masks, clothing, shoes, accessories, even home furniture. Other stalls for games and entertainment were set up as well; there was even a dunk tank set up where anybody was allowed inside for twenty minutes. There were even stalls with games and activities just for children spread out amongst the festival ranging from jump rope contests to face painting. There was also a stall set up for the females to get their hair braided into the most twisted and elaborate designs with flowers, ribbon, and beads as well **(4)**.

And the food. _'Good Lord,'_ thought D'artagnan to himself, '_there's enough food here to feed all of France with a year's supply to spare.'_ The food was being served in an area separate from the rest of the festivities as a way to prevent the crafts and games from being ruined by the food and smoke from the furnaces, and so that it would be easier for the city folk to mingle and visit one another while they ate. The day was sunny with a few clouds but the temperature was borderline chilly with the occasional wind blowing; this was fortunate for those cooking the food since the city folk would want something hot to drink, and the fruit and sweets they had set out wouldn't spoil. Chickens, pigs, lamb, cow, even fish were roasted on spits or cooked on a pan or tray over an open fire where the people could see. Breads of all types and flavors were bring baked in huge stone ovens that must have taken six men to move. Fruits and vegetables were being washed, dried, and inspected before being set aside in large baskets to be used in other dishes. Desserts and sweets both from France and outside of it were made nonstop to appease both the sugar-greedy children and even the adults who had a sweet tooth. Beer, ale, brandy, water, wine, even champagne filled the cup of every citizen at the festival, and there was such a demand for more and more alcohol that others feared they would run out. The prepared food was set out on long massive tables like an enormous buffet with more cooks watching the food and serving up what was desired. Children workers and assistants to the cooks were continuously running back and forth between the main stores and the festival for supplies like flour, eggs, spices, molasses, more alcohol, and others to keep the food processing going and keep the people happy **(5)**.

The live entertainment was the proverbial cherry on top of D'artagnan's day of enjoyment. Men on stilts walked around in very long and elaborate costumes to hide the stilts; some were playing instruments or shaking hands with the city folk. Jugglers equipped with wooden poles, rings, knives, lit torches, even cannon balls were spread out throughout the festival, there were few mimes here and there, and there were a few comedic shows scheduled every half an hour **(6)**.

"Oh…my…God."

"Impressive isn't it?" D'artagnan could only nod as he turned his head left and right, trying to see as much of the festival as he could in one look.

"The festivals and village celebrations at home have nothing on this." The older musketeer laughed good naturedly as he watched the boy run to the nearest stand which was selling leather masks shaped like animal faces. A fraternal smile touched his lips as he watched D'artagnan first become a crow, then an eagle, and other animals. Aramis chuckled at the wide eyed childish awe on D'artagnan's face as they moved through the festival; very rarely did D'artagnan ever truly act his age or even show that he was still merely an eighteen year old farm boy. It did Aramis and the others good to see that D'artagnan still possessed the naivety and innocence of a boy his age.

It irked them however that D'artagnan still believed that he had to prove himself to his older colleagues when he already had and then some. Between standing up to Rochefort and Jussac and later killing Rochefort, standing up to and fighting the Cardinal's guards the first day he was in town, helping clear the queen's name when they retrieved her diamonds, and just all around standing up for three of them all the time.

The other former members of the musketeers had not been as welcoming towards the boy since he came to Paris though. The majority of the older musketeers, older than even Porthos, saw the boy as foolish and idealistic. While Porthos and Athos truly had no real feelings about the boy being dead at the end of the day thanks to his recklessness, the older musketeers truly did expect his "luck" to run out and for him to die soon. To them D'artagnan's big heart, his need for fairness in a fight, and his streak for being honorable were seen as weaknesses, and the boy himself was seen as a child with foolish dreams.

Even some of the older musketeers who were closer to D'artagnan's age still treated him coldly. It burned them with jealousy and envy that a boy four to six years their junior, and a farm boy on top of that, became a probationary musketeer after one mission to save the queen. Some of them were born to higher ranking families and those families had paid good money to pay for the physician's bills when their boys were injured in training, spars or on missions. Those who were born within the middle class families had to work even harder to join the ranks and gain respect from their superiors. And yet some child, a _poor farm boy_, became part of the musketeer corps after showing a few fancy sword techniques, taking on a small group of the Cardinal's guards, and one measly mission.

It had been on more than one occasion that Athos, Porthos, or Aramis had to verbally defend the boy against their other colleagues, even having to step into the fights to prevent bloodshed. Several of the younger ones actually switched from the King's musketeers to join the Cardinal's guards as an excuse to attack D'artagnan whenever they felt like it. It took one conversation between Louis and Richelieu to remove the young men from France's military permanently as a reminder to the other musketeers: attacking a fellow musketeer in any shape or form will _not _be tolerated. The others did back off D'artagnan after that but it didn't stop the dirty looks and snide comments. The rest of them just pretended like the boy didn't exist at all. If anything this pissed off his comrades even further. When they questioned D'artagnan's sanity after he told them to let it go, he gave them a simple answer that made him sound much more mature than a boy his age should be.

"They're not important to me, so why would I care about what their opinions of me are?"

A shriek of surprise brought Aramis out of his thoughts and he almost laughed out loud at the scene in front of him. D'artagnan was sitting in the dunk tank dripping wet with his cat mask still on, an apple in his mouth, and the most adorable pout on his face **(7)**. Aramis suddenly wished he could have that image painted to keep forever, but he knew that D'artagnan would never forgive him if he did.

"Enjoy your youth and innocence while you still have it D'artagnan," whispered Aramis as he fondly watched the boy try to gather as much of his dignity as he could, "a lot of people are going to be really upset when you're older."

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The duo continued walking through the festival, enjoying each other's company and enjoying their surroundings. They stopped to admire several of the arts and crafts the artisans had set out, played a couple of the games even though the prizes were more suited to the children, and chatted amongst the rest of the city folk. Along with the mask D'artagnan also bought five leather journals to document his missions and life in Paris, a bracelet and perfume for Constance, a jester's hat for Porthos, and a book of prayers for different occasions for Aramis; he knew that the former priest could recite over fifty different prayers with ease, but it never hurt to see if Aramis could learn a new one. D'artagnan wasn't sure what to get Athos though; he wasn't even sure he wanted to give the man anything at all. From what D'artagnan had heard the man was in no mood with him to accept anything from him, especially not a cheap gift from a festival. And if Athos thought him to be a burden then he certainly wouldn't accept anything from him.

'_That's not true though,' _said the little voice in the back of his mind, _'have you already forgotten all the times he's helped you in the past?'_

"Then how do you explain what he said about me when I was sick?" mumbled D'artagnan so Aramis wouldn't hear him.

'_A simple misunderstanding perhaps?' _D'artagnan snorted disbelievingly._ 'You were delirious and weak from your injuries and the fever. And in that state you mistook Athos' words and anger for yourself since you're so used to him speaking that way to you.'_

"And what if you are wrong?"

'_If I am, then you need to show him that you are not what he claims you to be: foolish.'_

D'artagnan willed the voice with a mental shake of his head. He didn't need to start going crazy so early in his life. He pondered on the silent conversation he had with himself as he and Aramis continued to walk through the festival. They were approaching a blacksmith's stand when D'artagnan came to a decision.

"Aramis? Why don't you go on ahead and meet up with Porthos? I need to get one more thing from the blacksmith."

"You sure?" asked Aramis, "You know where to find us?" D'artagnan arched an eyebrow with a teasing smirk.

"Porthos will be the loud, boisterous fool with women and servants bringing him more food and wine every half an hour. You'll be the suave charmer seducing women in front of their husbands with a glass of wine in one hand and a handkerchief in the other." He ducked under Aramis' half hearted grab and disappeared into the crowd

"Cheeky little brat!" Aramis called after him, D'artagnan's ringing laughter the only answer. Chuckling quietly to himself Aramis went in search of Porthos.

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"You sure you can have this ready before the fireworks tonight?"

"Of course I can boy," said the blacksmith as he read the request written by D'artagnan, "It's going to cost you a pretty coin, but I can have this done by tonight." D'artagnan pulled the sack of gold inside his jacket out and set it in front of the man.

"I tryst this will be more than enough?" asked D'artagnan mildly. He smirked a little as the man's eyes widened at the amount of gold on the table. "Have a good day monsieur," D'artagnan said as he walked away to join his friends for dinner.

"Boy! Your change!" called the blacksmith after him, but the boy was already swallowed up by the crowd. "Strange kid," he muttered to himself before barking out orders to his assistants for tools and supplies from the store.

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When D'artagnan reached the dining area to meet his friends the entire place was crawling with people either at the huge buffet line or sitting at picnic tables or on blankets on the ground. Everybody there had at least one plate full of food and a cup with a drink inside. Laughter and talking filled the air and the atmosphere was pleasant and friendly. D'artagnan loaded himself a plate and grabbed a cup of wine before settling himself in the cool shade of a tree to eat. He had just finished his last drop of wine before some of the children that lived near his apartment complex and a few other children asked him to play. Confident that the mask he still wore wouldn't give himself away D'artagnan burned off the energy the food gave him, happy that he was finally able to act his own age without having to worry about anything else.

Or so he thought.

"Good Lord that's embarrassing. Having to lower oneself to the level of babes and toddlers to have fun? Such shame!" D'artagnan and the children turned at the sound of the voice to see Armande Durandus, the youngest count in eastern France, with five of his companions alongside him. D'artagnan motioned to the children to leave without taking an eye off of Armande.

This guy was bad news; he was the type of person who judged others based on wealth and looks, and sometimes even those people were treated horribly. Anybody else below that level of class was seen an uncultured and a waste of space. D'artagnan had even heard rumors of him striking a peasant woman because her son had accidently splashed some mud on his boots, and beating an old beggar man in an alleyway because he had gotten in Armande's way.

"Durandus…what can I do for you?" asked D'artagnan, his voice cool and even to hide the burning anger he felt whenever he looked at this person.

"It is _Count _Durandus to you farm boy," he sneered as he took in D'artagnan's dirtied boots and trousers and sweaty shirt. D'artagnan merely raised an eyebrow in a near perfect form of Athos.

"Titles don't decide a battle, _Durandus_. Nor does it make a person better than others in the sight of God." D'artagnan spoke in a calm and slow voice, as though he were explaining something to a child. Armande curled his upper lip in disgust at the younger boy in front of him. He had tried on more than one occasion to get D'artagnan in enough trouble to get him kicked out of the musketeer corps to teach him to know his place. A poor farm boy amongst the ranks to guard the king?! Absurd! Only those of reputation and class were allowed to even try to go through the auditions and training to get in. It was embarrassing enough that a former pirate, a lecherous ex-priest, and an old drunkard were part of the King's musketeers, but the farm boy was the final straw that broke the camel's back.

"You have no place here," he hissed out suddenly, surprising the nearby people with the amount of venom in his voice, "and you especially have no place amongst the King's musketeers!" The crowd that they were starting to attract gasped softly. They were poor and dirty yes, but they weren't fools contrary to popular belief. They knew that the young lad had trouble fitting in with his new colleagues aside from the Three Inseparables, but they didn't realize how bad it was. It made sense now though as they thought back to all the times some of them had seen some of either the much older musketeers ignore the lad whenever he was near, or the younger ones only three to four years older than D'artagnan openly sneer at him and talk to him coldly. To their surprise D'artagnan showed no outward response to Armande's words, which only infuriated the young count even more. This also drove him to continue his insults as the two of them began to circle each other like wolves, neither one taking an eye off of the other.

"I mean, really! One battle against the Cardinal's guards and some measly mission to England and suddenly you're part of the musketeers! How is that fair to the rest of us who have worked our fingers to the bone, shed blood, and have _broken _our bones to get to where we are today?!"

The city folk were shocked at the open tantrum that the young count was throwing; normally he just whined and moaned until he got his way with the older musketeers or other people. There were some of them who agreed with the count's words however: that D'artagnan had gotten in on pure luck with no ounce of real talent while the rest of them agreed that it was D'artagnan's bravery and determination that earned him Monsieur Treville's respect.

"Careful there Durandus," mocked D'artagnan evenly, "one would almost think that you're being jealous right now." This caused Armande's face to go from red to an impressive shade of purple.

"I am most certainly not jealous, especially of you!" he spat. D'artagnan merely rolled his eyes in boredom. "It is embarrassing enough to have a scrappy farm boy," raged Armande, "who waves his word around recklessly and uncoordinatedly as part of the musketeers, but we also have a lazy drunkard, an ex-priest who couldn't keep to his vows, and an overgrown, idiotic man-child!"

D'artagnan's bored look suddenly took on a hard edge and his eyes turned steely. But Armande didn't notice this as he continued to slander the names of those D'artagnan considered closest to his heart to anyone who could hear. Armande's anger left him blind to D'artagnan's ever increasing rage as the other boy threw barbs and jabs at the Three Inseparables for all of Paris to hear.

"Porthos? He must have frightened some poor families so much they worried about the safety of their children's lives when he was around. Then Monsieur Treville must have taken him in to curb that temper of his. Not like it has done much good anyway!" he laughed hatefully while his comrades nodded along with every word he said. D'artagnan's eyes narrowed and sharpened even further. Some of the people watching the argument were sickened that Armande would use Porthos' temperas an excuse to accuse the man of being dangerous when they had only seen him unleash it on the Cardinal's guards and on his enemies.

"Aramis? Ha! The only reason that man is an ex-priest is because he couldn't help himself and had to go around deflowering every young maiden he came across in the churches and in the towns including the nuns!"

A dagger slipped down D'artagnan's sleeve into his hand which he clenched tightly behind his back. If there was one thing he knew about Aramis it was that he had taken his job as a priest very seriously, and would never do anything to break his vows unless he walked away from the priesthood. He also treated every female he met, be they eight or eighty, with respect and manners. What he did with his women in his room was his business only.

"And Athos?! The bastard's so drunk the majority of the time it's a miracle he can even pick up his sword."

D'artagnan's fist tightened around the handle of the dagger until his knuckles turned white and his nails threatened to make his palm bleed. His entire body was tense, even more so than a bowstring drawn back at its furthest point. The crowd was both sickened and angered at what they were hearing. How could one musketeer speak so harshly about his comrades like that? And they were his superiors as well in skill and rank! One thing for sure was certain: Armande Durandus no longer had any support from the city folk, and it wouldn't be long before he lost whatever little support he had in the musketeer corps.

"That's why that wife of his left him you," Armande said as he turned to face D'artagnan, "she finally got fed up with him being completely worthless and not amounting to anything."

D'artagnan felt something in him snap.

"I say good for her; it was only a matter of time before he couldn't keep his temper and drinking from mixing together and form taking it out on her."

A flood of white hot anger and rage washed over him, filling him up till he was certain he could feel it leaking out of his skin.

"I would watch yourself if I were you farm boy," said Armande with a nasty smile, "I mean, you do live with these men after all."

D'artagnan's instincts were chanting one word over and over again as his anger grew from the continuous jabs at his friends.

"Porthos, with his temper, would probably come after you if you make him angry enough; hell, he'll probably put you in the emergency care of a physician."

_Kill._

"Aramis, with his past experiences and knowledge of women and sex, is sure to have gotten bored with the same type of women throwing themselves at him. Who knows farm boy, perhaps he has…switched…his tastes around."

_Kill!_

"Athos. Heh, with that drinking habit of his he'll probably beat Aramis to it and get you piss drunk before getting you into his bed. Plenty of men like him at his age like that kind of thing now."

_KILL!_

In a move so fast only Aramis himself could have taught him, D'artagnan threw the dagger behind his back and watched it sink into Armande's right shoulder. In the time that it took for his friends to react D'artagnan had already thrown the first punch. One went down for the count as the other four drew their swords and charged him. Despite the red haze of anger over his mind his instincts commanded his body to dodge every sword thrust and strike and deliver his own in return. They each went down one by one before D'artagnan stopped. He didn't kill them but he did give them a beating they won't ever forget. D'artagnan turned his gaze to the shaking Armande who had placed a shaking hand around the knife still sitting in his shoulder.

"You bastard! Don't come near me!" D'artagnan said nothing as he stalked forward, increasing Armande's fear. "Didn't you hear?! I said don't come near me!" D'artagnan continued forward. "You are nothing farm boy!" shouted Armande with a frightened and desperate laugh, "You were nothing when you were born and you are nothing now! I! I am royalty! I mean something in this city! I'm important! I'm your superior! You can't touch me! Not without endangering your precious family or friends! I am-!"

BAM!

Armande hit the dirt hard and he cried out in pain when D'artagnan's knife slipped out of his shoulder. He clasped his hand over the wound to stop the bleeding though it seemed to do little good. He grunted in pain and surprise when he was kicked over onto his back and met cold and rage filled blue eyes that so resembled Athos'. D'artagnan's body was trembling with anger and the compelling need to rip Armande's heart out with his hand and make the bastard watch it stop beating. Armande was paralyzed with fear as he watched D'artagnan approach him and kneel next to his body.

"You are such a fool Durandus," said D'artagnan. His voice was calm and loud enough for the still watching crowd to hear what he was saying. His body had stopped its trembling, but the underlining rage was still visible to see. "You are so self absorbed you fail to realize that it is you who is the embarrassment." Armande huffed with indignation, but D'artagnan continued before he could say a word. "You walk around Paris like a high and mighty peacock and because you're a count and you expect people to bow down and respect you because of it, and you expect to use that title to not get hurt or to stay alive in your fights. And when people don't you whine, throw a fit, and then send your lackeys out to beat or ill the people as a lesson to others. You talk down to those of both your class level and lower, you attack women and old men because you feel like you're within your rights to do so, you're arrogant, impetuous, and you have an attitude that will get you killed by sundown." He heard a snort of laughter behind him but didn't turn around. Armande spoke up with traces of his previous anger in his voice.

"What does that make you then, huh? We've all heard your precious Porthos call you all those things and then some on multiple occasions! What does that say about you then?! What makes you think you're so different, so much better than me and the rest of the musketeer corps?!"

D'artagnan's face and eyes became emotionless, the previous fire and brimstone raging in them gone. The area was quiet, the crowd waiting with baited breath to find out how D'artagnan would defend himself now. He reached a hand towards Armande whose eyes grew wider with fear at the approaching limb. Certain that the boy was going for his throat Armande shut his eyes, his face scrunched up in fear as he awaited the end. He was surprised when D'artagnan bypassed him to pick up the fallen dagger. Grabbing a handful of Armande's shirt he wiped away the blood and dirt staining it.

"I have never once acted like I was better than the rest of you," said D'artagnan as he slipped the dagger back into his sleeve, "you all came to that conclusion on your own for whatever your own reasons are. I may share those last three qualities with you Durandus, but the difference between us is that I am all too aware of what my qualities are, the good and the bad. But you don't, and when somebody points your flaws out you respond in a violent manner. The other difference between us Durandus," said D'artagnan as he stood up with his arms crossed, "is that contrary to popular belief I do know how to keep my mouth shut when it's appropriate; you don't."

D'artagnan picked up his mask that had fallen during the short scuffle and retrieved his other belongings before donning his hat, cloak and gloves. Without turning around he spoke again in a low voice.

"Keep this in mind Durandus, and be sure to spread the word to the rest of the scum that you associate with: Athos, Porthos, and Aramis are off limits. If I hear one word of ill intent or slander towards them, well, I'll be sure to aim a few inches to your left next time."

Having said that D'artagnan walked out of the clearing, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea and he disappeared into the festival, leaving behind a humiliated count and two bemused friends who had watched the entire thing.

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D'artagnan stalked through the crowds towards the apartment complex he shared with his friends, his nerves high and alert and his blood still pumping hot and fast. He prayed that he didn't come across the Cardinal's guards or some other poor soul because he knew that with his temper so close to the surface he may end up killing them. He quickened his pace when the apartments came into view at the same time he spotted red and black uniforms out of the corner of his eyes. He threw the door open and was immensely grateful that he was alone. Athos was possibly still on his way back and Planchet was probably still back at the festival along with Aramis and Porthos. He felt bad for just leaving them without saying anything, but he had a feeling that word of what had happened already reached their ears as well as Monsieur Treville's.

D'artagnan sighed as he grabbed the un-open bottle of wine sitting on the table and disappeared into his room. Dropping his hat, cloak, gloves and sword on his desk he stored his purchases under the bed, kicked his boots off and fell back on his bed before taking a swig at the bottle. The evens of the day were already taking their toll on him.. Had it really only been this morning that he woke up in the Louvre? Only after consuming half the bottle did D'artagnan finally succumb to sleep.

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Athos wiped a dollop of sweat from his brow as he tied Adelard **(8) **next to the other horses. He grumbled to himself angrily as the loud sounds of the festival and city folk shattered the normally silent neighborhood he lived in. All he wanted was to come home to a warm cup of wine, some dinner, and _maybe _interact with the boy and the others. But no. He had completely forgotten that Lent was approaching, and with Lent came Mardi Gras. Now he had to deal with everybody that lived nearby being louder and more drunk than usual.

He walked inside hoping to find the bottle of wine he told Planchet to leave out for him when he returned home, but frowned when he saw that table empty. There was a sudden crash upstairs followed by drunken cursing. Athos drew his sword and made his way upstairs quietly. There was a second crash, this time in the direction of D'artagnan's room. Heart pounding, Athos rushed into the boy's room and had to fight the growing smirk on his face as he took in the scene before him.

D'artagnan was lying on the floor, legs tangled in the bed sheets, soaking wet. From what Athos could see D'artagnan had rolled out of bed by accident when he got his legs tangled up in the sheets. When he went to stand up he tried to find something to steady himself and accidentally upset the water basin next o his bed, resulting in the soaked disposition and multiple curses. All traces of amusement were wiped away though when he saw the missing bottle of wine on its side on the floor, replaced with annoyance and anger. D'artagnan managed to roll over onto his back to meet Athos' upside down stern gaze.

"Heeeeyyy Athoooos…when yooooouuuusss…get baaaack?"

Good Lord the boy was piss drunk.

"What the hell are you doing boy?" asked Athos irritably. His eyebrow twitched when D'artagnan burst out laughing. Athos growled when D'artagnan rolled on the floor clutching his ribs as he continued to laugh.

"Yooou're faaaace Athooosss…soooo funnnnyyyyy!" Snarling like an angry bear Athos stalked forward and in one smooth action had D'artagnan thrown over his shoulder like a sack of grain and walked towards their bathroom. Dumping the boy into the tub he grabbed the bucket that was always full of water for the bath and dumped it all over the boy. The icy cold water worked quickly in sobering D'artagnan up who let loose a new litany of curses that could have only come from Porthos. Sputtering and shivering D'artagnan gave Athos a glare, who leveled one of his own complete with a raised eyebrow.

"A bit early in the festivities for you to be getting drunk?" asked Athos as he handed him a towel. D'artagnan gave the man a deadpanned look.

"You want to be the pot or the kettle?" Athos snorted as D'artagnan walked past him for his bedroom.

"Where's Porthos and Aramis?" he asked as he leaned against the wall next to the doorway, but not looking in; the boy did deserve his privacy even though the four of them had nothing to hide or be ashamed of. It wasn't uncommon to see at least one of them wandering around the house in various states of undress.

"Left them with the wives and wine; they were about two cups away from being drunk and three sentences away from being caught," said D'artagnan as he walked out of the room, rubbing the towel on his head. "Idiots. Both of them," he continued as he headed back downstairs. Athos hummed in amusement and agreement and followed the lad downstairs. D'artagnan had sat down at the table with his head in his arms like he was going back to sleep. Athos poured the remaining wine in the bottle into a cup and poured some water for D'artagnan before sitting next to the fireplace. The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence that was broken by the sounds of the festival in the distance and some of their neighbors returning home.

"Did your business in Calais go smoothly?" asked D'artagnan without opening his eyes. Athos raised an eyebrow but when he detected only mild curiosity he answered.

"Yes, it did."

"Good," said D'artagnan as he readjusted his arms, "I was about to yank my hair out after the first day of dealing with them." He lifted his head up and met Athos' amused look with his own playful, exasperated one, "Never hsall I ever make fun of you for having them as roommates." Athos hmphed with a tiny smirk on his face and D'artagnan laid his head back down.

"Laaaaaadiiiieeeessss! We're home!" Athos and D'artagnan both groaned when the door burst open.

"There goes the peace," grumbled Athos as he finished off the wine in one gulp.

Porthos sauntered into the house in very high spirits followed by Aramis with a more mellow attitude. Porthos was very red in the face from all the wine he had consumed earlier, he had multiple fake necklaces that had to have come from his female companions, and he was clutching…a giant teddy bear in his arms? Aramis didn't look much better; his clothes and hair were in disarray, his cheeks were red as well from the wine, and he had…_kiss marks_ on his neck?

Athos raised an eyebrow at his friends but didn't say anything as they both went into detail of what had taken place after Athos had left for Calais. D'artagnan threw in a comment from time to time but he mostly kept quiet as he rested his head on the table. They could all feel the embarrassment rolling off of him as Porthos and Aramis told Athos all about his adventures when he was gone from the first date D'artagnan had taken Constance on to the showdown that took place just a few hours ago between the boy and Count Durandus. Athos was annoyed at the recklessness of D'artagnan but glowed with warmth on the inside when he heard how passionately D'artagnan defended the three of them.

They were interrupted by Planchet's return home from the festival which saved D'artagnan from further embarrassing stories from Porthos and Aramis. He welcomed his master home but Athos only waved him off and was presented with his dinner. Porthos was about to demand for his own but Aramis came to the poor servant's rescue by reminding Porthos that he had gotten enough at the festival along with himself. Bowing his head and stuttering out his gratitude Planchet bid them all good night and retreated to his room while Porthos grumbled next to D'artagnan.

They began to exchange stories of their day at Mardi Gras while "Athos ate and only spoke of a few minor instances while he was in Calais. It was after Athos finished eating and they broke open a new bottle of wine that D'artagnan asked what had been bothering him since he woke up.

"What happened after I passed out?" Their looks all turned grave at the boy's question. D'artagnan frowned a little at their faces and looked from one to the other. "What? What happened to me?"

Aramis was the first to speak up after the look on his face disappeared.

"When the musketeers had found you D'artagnan, they thought you were dead at first. It was," Aramis hurried to explain after seeing the boy's stricken face, "because they had found you with blood all over and all around you, you looked like you hadn't eaten in a week, and you were flushed from a fever." D'artagnan sat back in his chair in shock; he knew he had probably looked bad because he didn't eat or sleep too much since he was in a hurry to come home, and he may have taken a nasty hit or two from those bandits, but did he really come out looking like the way Aramis described him? Seeing the boy's confused face Porthos asked him about the mission to clear up some things.

"It was a normal escort mission. I got the client home safely, and was on my way home when I saw huge storm clouds starting to form behind me. I still had about three days before I would make it back to Paris, and if I got caught up in the storm I would have been stuck out there for a few extra weeks. Since it's flood season all the roads would have been impossible to journey on and traveling off the roads to get here would still have taken just as long. So I pushed Alexandre harder than normal so that I would make it back home in time."

D'artagnan looked at their faces as he finished his story; Porthos looked both worried and proud, Aramis anxious and happy, and Athos annoyed and upset. But there was one emotion that all three of them share that filled D'artagnan with warmth: relief. Relief because he was still alive, safe at home or recovered he wasn't sure, but he was happy to see this from all three of them.

"I only hurried home because I didn't want to worry any of you; heh, guess I still failed though."

Knocking at the door prevented the others from responding to D'artagnan; he made his way over to the door before they could call for Planchet and opened it to find a smaller boy holding a package in his arms.

"Yous be Monsieur D'artagnan sir?" D'artagnan nodded and the boy handed his package over to the older boy, "Old man Jean da blacksmithee ask me da deliver dis to ya." D'artagnan pulled the cloth back a little in curiosity and smiled when he saw the contents inside. He tossed the kid a gold coin for his service.

"Thanks kid, have a good night."

"Yous too sir!" said the younger boy excitedly as he clutched the coin in his fist like it was a gift from God himself and disappeared into the streets.

"Whatcha got here lad? A gift from a certain lady friend perhaps?" asked Porthos as he wiggled his eyebrows. D'artagnan rolled his eyes with a smirk.

"Hardly Porthos," said D'artagnan as he moved towards the stairs, "it's just some extra stuff I bought at the festival." Then he disappeared upstairs before the others could catch him with another question. D'artagnan stayed upstairs for the next hour while the other three quietly talked amongst themselves about random subjects. It was when they heard the first BOOM in the sky that D'artagnan came running downstairs with excitement written all over his face.

"It's finally starting!" he managed to get out before he tore out of the apartment like lightning. Athos mumbled under his breath about children while Porthos and Aramis laughed good naturedly at the boy's actions as they got up to follow him. By the time that they found him D'artagnan had found himself a tree branch to sit on that wasn't' covered by the top branches or leaves to watch the fireworks. He had only heard stories from his father and Porthos and Aramis about the shows that fireworks were made to put on and the different types that were used. Seeing in person though was better than any of the stories he had heard.

He was so enraptured- by the fireworks that he missed the warm glances Athos continued to send him throughout the show. The boy always tried to prove himself to the other musketeers them and he acted like he was five years older, but seeing him right now act the eighteen year old he truly was gave Athos some sort of peace of mind and comfort. He would enjoy it while he could because come the morning D'artagnan would be right back to acting like his usual self by trying to put more gray hairs into Athos' hair before his time.

The four of them stayed till the end of the fireworks show which finished off with the biggest amount of explosions and colors that D'artagnan had ever seen. The four friends talked and laughed together the entire walk home even though it was late and the events of the day were beginning to catch up to all of them. When they got home D'artagnan immediately said good night to the other men and wished them luck on their mission to Sweden before disappearing into his room. Porthos and Aramis went to bed right away as well while Athos stayed up for a few more hours with a bottle of wine before heading to bed as well.

**APADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAP ADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPAD APADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAP ADAPADAPAD**

Porthos shut the door to his room and began to strip down for bed. When he went to turn the bed down the jingling of bells startled him into a fighting stance. Calming himself down when nothing attacked right away he lit a candle and swept it over his bed to make an interesting discovery. A jester's hat with green and purple alternating arms and golden bells at the end of each arm sat at the end of his bed with a folded note on top. Porthos sat down and read the note under the faint glow of the candle.

_It is common to see a man act like a fool, but it is rare to see a fool act like a man. Keep making us laugh Porthos; we need it._

_-D'artagnan._

A very large, very warm smile broke out over Porthos' face as he happily tried on the jester's hat, the little gold bells jingling merrily. He was about to blow out the candle when he noticed something that had been lying underneath the hat. It was a dagger that much he could tell by the shape, but it was wrapped up in cloth. He unwrapped it to find a black leather sheath, plain and simple, and the handle of the knife was plain as well as the sheath with black leather wrapping around the handle. But it was the inscriptions on the sides of the blade that got his attention.

_Laughter makes friends, time makes brother._

On the other side.

_All for one, and one for all. -APAD_

Porthos laughed quietly for a little while, amazed that once again the boy was able to surprise him. He tucked the hat and dagger away and settled down to sleep after blowing the candle out, his quiet laughter echoing around the room.

**APADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAP ADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPAD APADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAP ADAPADAPAD**

It was when he was undressing for bed that Aramis saw the book and cloth covered dagger sitting on the bed. Flipping through the prayer book he was actually surprised to find some prayers that he had never heard of or read before, and some that were extensions of old prayers he already knew. He picked up the note that had fallen out and read it.

_A wise man once told me that it takes courage for a man to ask for help. However, I believe that it takes an even stronger man to speak his mind even if it means endangering his life. These prayers are what other men were brave enough to say in the face of persecution and prejudice to hide their real words. Can you hear their messages?_

_-D'artagnan._

Aramis smiled at the boy thoughtfulness and unwrapped the dagger. It looked plain at first glance, but it was the inscriptions on both sides of the blade that almost made Aramis cry.

_A brothers bond is like water: unbreakable, limitless, and a force of nature._

On the other side.

_All for one, and one for all. -APAD_

It was only after Aramis had safely and securely tucked the book away along with the dagger into his bag and wiped his tears away that he was finally able to fall into an easy slumber, prayers of gratitude sent to God for bringing D'artagnan into their lives.

**APADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAP ADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPAD APADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAPADAP ADAPADAPAD**

The first thing that Athos noticed when he entered his room was D'artagnan sleeping with his back against the side of his bed, arms and legs spread out at awkward angles. If that wasn't questionable enough it was the folded note sitting on top of two wrapped items next to the boy's head that was. On cat like feet Athos crossed the room and lifted the note up. D'artagnan shifted slightly in his sleep; Athos held his breath fearing the boy would wake up and he would have to give an explanation, which was stupid considering this was Athos' room and D'artagnan would be the one that needed to do some explaining. But he only turned his head to face the other direction and continued to sleep.

Sighing in annoyance at the boy's antics Athos opened the note and had to remind himself to gently sit down on the bed as he tried to get his head on straight after he had finished reading it. The letter slipped from his fingers to flutter harmlessly to the floor where it rested, the words lit up by the candlelight.

_Athos,_

_There are a lot of things that a young boy want in life as he grows up: a beautiful wife, a house full of children, a job that he loves, and many other things. What he also wants to achieve are the greatest treasures that life can offer: love, prosperity, friendship, joy, honor, courage, the list goes on. But from whom can he see the perfect example of life? From his father of course. Brothers and mentors make good teachers, but there is no one better than a child's own father._

_Both look towards each other with hope; one wishing to be the other, the other wishing to protect the other. Both teach the other the lessons of life, and how to deal with their hardships. Both also help the other grow in ways that they never thought possible. But most of all, they are always there to calm and chase away the worst fears imaginable._

_I already have a father Athos, but in the months that I have been living with you and Porthos and Aramis I have come to see you as a second father. You're already helping my father teach me how to be a better swordsman; can you help teach me to be a man as well? _

_-D'artagnan_

_PS: I know that it is tradition for a father to pass on the family sword to his son, and that it is also tradition for a new recruit of the musketeer corps to go through a long period of extensive training before going through his trial period. But have you ever known me to be traditional?_

Athos had to swallow the tears that threatened to spill over multiple times before he was able to get a handle on his emotions. His gaze drifted to the young (only eighteen years old goddamnit!), immature, arrogant youth that had turned his world around. Had it really only been less than a year since they had known D'artagnan? It had seemed like so much longer.

Shaking his head to clear the direction his thoughts were heading he stood up from the bed and, with the gentleness and softness of picking up an infant, Athos lifted D'artagnan into his arms and carried him back to his room. D'artagnan shifted slightly at the change but he only snuggled back into Athos' jacket. It was several minutes before Athos was able to return back to his room since he had to extract the surprisingly strong grip D'artagnan's fingers had on his jacket. He covered the boy up with the quilt the boy's mother had sent him this past Christmas and softly closed the door behind him.

Athos picked up the letter and set it on the nightstand next to his bed and pulled the wrapped packages towards him as he sat back down. The first item he unwrapped was a sword, its blade glinting in the moonlight as though it had just been polished a few seconds ago instead of a few hours ago. The handle was wrapped in black leather and had writing on both sides of the blade just like the dagger did.

_A reminder to come home._

On the other side of the dagger.

_All for one, and one for all. -APAD_

_All good men stand together as one, both in life and in death._

On the opposite side of the sword.

_Honor and courage: the true colors of a musketeer. _

Words were simply lost to Athos as he stared at the innocent words engraved into the metal. Word or thought process was impossible for him to manage at this point he was so overwhelmed. Once again D'artagnan had taken his world and turned it upside down. He wasn't sure whether to thank the boy or to throttle him. He gave so much without even asking for anything in return, and it made Athos uneasy.

Athos let out a humorless laugh as he hung his head in his hands. It was like God was making fun of him or getting his revenge on him for something in the past. Ever since D'artagnan had settle in with them it seemed like the boy had made it his personal mission to turn Athos as gray as he could in the fastest way possible. He sighed tiredly before getting up to stash his gifts and the note next to his supplies for the mission the following morning. He got into bed and fell asleep almost immediately, thankful once again for the whirlwind that had come in and swept their lives up in its fury.

D'artagnan.  
**_**

***(1) Means "protector of men".**

***(2) Sorry for causing any of you to start drooling on your keyboards. **

***(3) For any of you who were thinking something nasty, shame on you. *sticks tongue out***

***(4), (5), (6) I have no idea how they celebrated certain festivals during this time period; I'm just combining what I've seen at the Renaissance Fair and at the county fair.**

***(7) My first challenge to all of you: kitty D'artagnan pictures! *squeal***

***(8) Means "noble strength".  
**

**Like it? Hate it? Love it? Wipe your ass with it? Let me know!**


	2. Chapter 1 version 2

**A/N: Hey everyone! I am so sorry for taking so long to update Reflection *dodges tomato*, for not putting in the effort to work harder *dodges box full of tomatoes*, and for just not updating at all *dodges truck full of tomatoes*. *wide-eyed look* Who the hell threw that truck?!**

**Anywho people, enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: C'mon, ya'll should know me by now. I don't own a damn thing.  
_**

D'artagnan had never really given much thought as to what his life would be like once he had arrived into Paris to become a musketeer. Sure, he knew that he would have to go through some harsh training before he could become an official musketeer, and possibly even get into a couple of fights either with the local drunkards or even with the Cardinal's guards. Hell, he even knew of the possibility that the musketeer corps were not going to be accepting fresh recruits, so he would have to get a job in the meantime. He was no stranger to hard work having grown up on a farm all his life, so he had no complaints about possibly getting another job until recruitment started.

What he didn't count on was the musketeer corps being disbanded because of the Cardinal who wanted the throne of France for himself, or that the Cardinal's guards would terrorize the citizens of Paris and egg on the musketeers on purpose in hopes of getting them arrested. He also didn't count on somebody trying to kill him before he even reached Paris (even though he was well within his right to challenge the man; nobody spoke ill of Buttercup and got away with it). He especially didn't count on meeting the infamous Three Musketeers that his father told stories about when he was a boy. Nor did he consider that he would end up rooming with them during his time in Paris. He also didn't expect his first mission to be retrieving the queen's diamonds to clear her name and save her life along with the future of France; and he wasn't even a musketeer yet. But overall, the number one thing he didn't count on when he got to Paris was his roommates to give a damn about him. Honestly, why would three seasoned soldiers care about a wet-behind-the-ears boy who wanted to play with the big boys? According to them he was hot-headed, reckless, impetuous, had more lives than a cat, and had a fairly good chance of being dead by the end of the day. And yet they defended him at every turn against the Cardinal's guards and other enemies, they took bullets and knives that were meant for him, they helped him win over Constance's heart (well, two of them did), and were there for him at every point in his life whether it was sad or happy.

Aramis and Porthos had both been there for him when he was at his lowest point in life, which he wasn't surprised about. The two of them were very easy going men, Porthos more so than Aramis, and D'artagnan had found it easy for him to be able to talk and get along with them. Athos, on the other hand, was a different sack of apples. The man drank more than any other person D'artagnan had met or seen before in his life, he was ill-tempered, grumpy, and always seemed to prefer to be by himself. Not to mention the fact that he kept his secrets wrapped up in him more tightly than the Cardinal's purse strings. It was this attitude that prevented D'artagnan from having a proper conversation with Athos.

Not that the boy expected Athos to have the patience to listen to him or even the want to listen to a child when he could very well talk to other men his own age on topics that they could relate to and hold a proper conversation about. The first few days of living with them were the hardest for D'artagnan; that was when he had bared the brunt of Athos' surliness at its max. His attitude seemed to have cleared up a bit during their mission to retrieve Queen Anne's diamonds, but after that mission since Aramis helped him dress the injuries he received from his fight with Rochefort Athos' attitude seemed to get worse again. D'artagnan believed that he had found someplace he could call his home-away-from-home to stave off missing his parents, but the way Athos was acting made him feel like he was intruding. After all the three men had been rooming with each other long before D'artagnan came into their lives, so it would only make sense that they would feel like he was invading. He had considered leaving at one point in time, but Athos had surprised him into staying.

D'artagnan had just finished an escort mission to Spain when the thunder clouds started to slowly move in. Eager to beat them home before it started raining hard enough to flood the roads D'artagnan rode hard for three days and three nights, his rental horse whom he had named Alexandre **(1) **extremely tired at the end of each day. Buttercup had finally started acting her sixteen years of age, and D'artagnan was forced to put her out to the pasture so to speak. His client rode Buttercup till they got to his farm where he dropped her off with his parents. Though they had been surprised to see her, his parents had missed Buttercup as well and knew that it was time for her to retire. The client had ridden with D'artagnan the rest of the trip to Spain.

It was on the final day that D'artagnan's luck had run out. IT first started out with the rain; it had started coming down in bucketfuls in the early hours of the morning, reducing the boy's vision to almost zero and making the ground extremely muddy. On top of that D'artagnan and Alexandre were almost completely exhausted from the riding, and were starving as well. Even though D'artagnan had given every last bit of food he had to the horse they were both still hungry for more. The cherry on top of the proverbial pile of crap D'artagnan had to deal with came in the form of highwaymen looking to score their next deal. Exhausted from the mission, riding and rain D'artagnan was barely able to defeat them before they ran off. It was not without consequence though as one of the highwaymen managed to get a clean cut across the boy's ribs as they fled. His side burning in unbelievable pain, his strength waning faster and faster as he continued his journey home, he was able to make it inside the city walls before he and Alexandre collapsed and welcomed the darkness.

Random voices swam through D'artagnan's mind as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The combination of near starvation, exhaustion form the mission, pain from his injuries, and fever from the rain brought him awake long enough to hear the outside world only to pull him back out like waves hitting the shore.

In

"…_the hell is…Monsieur Treville, go…hang in there boy…"_

Ah, looks like some musketeers had found him at last. Good thing it was not some of the Cardinal's guards; he knew they would have spit on his body before continuing on their merry way. They probably would have gone into the first tavern they found to celebrate his "demise" as well. His mind began blanking out as warmth began to spread throughout his body.

Out

* * *

In

"…_the hell is…blasted doctor, what good are you if…come on now boy…even apologize…you little shit…keep us young…"_

That had to be Porthos; no one else called his "little shit" before in his life ever since he came to Paris. D'artagnan's heart ached with guilt and sadness at hearing Porthos' normally laughing voice sound so serious and upset over his well-being. He wanted to console the man but he was unable to as his mind swept him away again.

Out

* * *

In

"…_never said one for a friend…so worried about you…going crazy…gave us quite a fright…wake up…"_

Aramis. D'artagnan's always calm and collected friend sounded anything but. The only one other time D'artagnan had seen Aramis look unhinged was when he and the others thought Porthos had come down with tuberculosis. Even though it turned out to be just a simply very bad cold D'artagnan had never forgotten the stricken look of terror on the priest's face. The boy knew what his friend must look like right now: worried face trying to be hidden, wringing hands, light sweat on his body, rumpled clothes. D'artagnan tried to reach out for Aramis to comfort him like Porthos but his body felt heavy like before and the darkness swept him away again before he could.

Out

* * *

In

…_scared right now…so worried…miss you so much…waiting for you…need you to be okay…love you, my heart…"_

His angel. His life. Constance. The sound of her voice alone was enough to strengthen him and destroy him all at the same time. It gave him the strength to fight for his life and to want to get better to see her again, yet it ate at his insides ferociously to hear the scared and upset tone sin her voice. And it killed him ever more to know that he had been the one to make her feel that way, and that he couldn't even sit up to chase her sadness away.

Out

* * *

In

"…_much too young…brave, foolish boy...have to tell your father…give me gray hairs…get better lad…"_

Was that Monsieur Treville? What was he doing visiting D'artagnan when he had never done so before? And what was that bit about telling his father? That made D'artagnan begin to panic; his father had enough to worry about at home with taking care of his mother without needing to know that his son was laid up in bed. D'artagnan tried to open his mouth to tell Monsieur Treville that he was alright, that he didn't need to write to D'artagnan's father but he cursed in his head when he realized that his body was still too weak and tired for him to even move.

Out

* * *

In

"…_stupid fool…naïve boy…kill him…taken care of…burden on all of us…too much trouble…cause problems…"_

Athos. Of course. Who else besides the Cardinal and his guards wasn't afraid to criticize everything that he did? Damn it all, it hurt D'artagnan to know that Athos still didn't see him as anything more than that immature boy that first crashed into him. Even though had wouldn't admit it D'artagnan had come to see Athos as a second father; someone who taught him about life, how to be a man, to know that in the company of friends he doesn't have to pretend to be strong. And most of all, crying is not a weakness for a man; it just proves that he has still embraced his human side. This time D'artagnan willed himself back to sleep so as to not listen to Athos' cutting words; he just hoped that the grief he felt in his heart didn't cause to cry outwardly.

Out

* * *

This time when D'artagnan came to, his body didn't feel as heavy as it did the other times. He slowly opened his heavy eyes, squinting against the small light that was in the room, but it was still bright enough to irritate his eyes. Blinking a few times he turned his head and was greeted with the sight of Athos sleeping with his head in his arms on the bed. He was surprised; Athos had done nothing but complain about him being a burden and an all-around pain in the ass when he was awake enough to listen. Yet here he was, lying next to D'artagnan as though waiting for him to wake up. He shook his head mentally at that; no way was Athos worried about him enough to stay by his bed, or at all for that matter. He turned away hoping the man would sleep longer, and so he would also put off Athos giving him a lecture he didn't need to hear.

Looking around himself he caught sight of Aramis and Porthos sleeping as well in positions that had to be uncomfortable for them. Aramis must have first went to sleep with his head in his arms on top of the writing desk, but sometime during the night his body tried to unconsciously lay down flat, and so pushed his chair out far enough so that only the side of his face rested on the desk. His arms hung almost to the floor and his back was arched almost painfully. He mouth was open slightly and he had a small puddle of drool starting to form. Porthos' position didn't look any better. He was reclining on a couch next to the door, but he had suck so low on the couch that the only things keeping him from falling to the floor were his arms on the back of the couch. He was already a big man as it was on a small couch but his butt was now perched on the edge of the couch with his legs spread out in from of him. His head was tilted back so he faced the ceiling, his mouth hanging open and snoring up a thunderstorm.

A smile twitched at D'artagnan's lips at the absurdity of his friends; he gave a small chuckle when Porthos shifted a bit in his sleep and managed to catch himself before he fell off, but that turned out to be a big mistake as his dry throat suddenly flamed with pain. Of course being unconscious for as long as he had been had dried his mouth and throat out, which resulted in a very violent coughing fit first to relieve the tickle in his throat caused by the laugh, then to try and catch his breath.

As though somebody had lit firecrackers under their butts the Three Inseparables all jumped up in alarm at the sudden break in silence. Athos tried to sit up and jump to his feet at the same time and ended up falling to the side of the bed before hitting the floor. Porthos tried to sit up on the couch but considering how close he was to the edge he immediately fell on his ass with a loud 'THUMP'! Aramis tried to push himself up thinking he was still sleeping on his arms, but ended up falling face first into the carpet. Watching his friends brought a fresh round of painful laughter from D'artagnan as his throat flared anew and his injured side started throbbing with pain.

"D'artagnan?! Thank God!" Porthos and Aramis both rushed towards their friend but ran into each other instead and went down once again, bringing fresh tears of pain and mirth from the boy as he tried to cough and laugh at the same time. Athos got himself to his feet with no problem and immediately barked at the other two.

"Quit moving you idiots, and then get up slowly!" he said when he caught sight of the tears in the boy's eyes. Good God how hurt was the boy still after all the sleep he had gotten? Aramis and Porthos both pulled chairs up as they watched Athos rub the boy's back as he caught his breath.

D'artagnan took several deep breaths to calm his body down and swallowed a few times to moisten his dry throat. He dropped back onto the pillow, exhausted from his coughing fit.

"Water," he managed to croak out.

He was surprised when none of them barked out an order to Planchet, but Athos immediately stood up and walked over to the table behind him where there was a jug and four cups sitting on it. D'artagnan grimaced as he realized he would have to sit up. Ignoring the hand Aramis placed on his shoulder to steady him D'artagnan slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard for support. He accepted the glass from Athos and when he went to chug the water down Athos grabbed his wrist.

"Slowly boy," he said his voice as firm as the grip on D'artagnan's wrist, "you just got over a fever; we don't need you getting sick again." He released D'artagnan's wrist and watched him carefully as he drank the water in slow, gentle sips. When he finished the water there was an awkward silence that fell over the men as the older three stared at D'artagnan while he fixed his gaze firmly on the cup he clutched in his hands.

"How long have I been out?" he asked softly, the burn in his throat gone.

"Two weeks," said Aramis just as quietly, "between the infection from your injuries and the fever you sustained, your body was under a lot of stress as it was healing itself."

D'artagnan's grip on the cup tightened.

"Have my parents been told anything?"

"Monsieur Treville was going to give you another three days before he would write to your mother and father," said Porthos, "But at least now he won't have to."

There was another tense silence that followed. The other three wanted to ask D'artagnan what had happened on his mission, but were worried of pushing the boy's energy too quickly. Again it was D'artagnan who broke the silence.

"Where are we exactly?" he asked as he looked around the elaborate room. Now that he took a second glance around, he saw that the room was elegantly decorated with paintings and sculptures.

"In a hidden room inside the Louvre. Your 'heart', Constance," Aramis smiled a little at the small blush that lit up the boy's cheeks, "insisted that we use this room to prevent the Cardinal's guards from attacking us while you recovered." D'artagnan smiled at the courage Constance must have shown to ensure the safety of his friends and himself.

"Do the king and queen know where we are?" he asked as he twisted his neck from side to side, trying to work the stiffness out.

"The queen does," said Athos as he studied the boy's exhausted body trying to stay awake, "and she hasn't told the king where we exactly, but she did tell him that we were somewhere safe while you healed."

D'artagnan frowned at that; how weak he must have been to get the queen to hide his body from the world in a secret room that only she knew while he recovered.

"I didn't realize that I would be causing so much trouble. It wasn't necessary for the queen to go this far in accommodations. Why not just put me up in Monsieur Treville's home? The Cardinal's guards aren't stupid enough to attack there."

His friends looked at each other, impressed with D'artagnan's logic

"Perhaps," said Porthos as he took the now empty cup from D'artagnan, "However, had we boarded you up in Treville's house the guards could have bribed or threatened the servants on the condition of your health, then lay and wait for you at the most opportune moment. Whereas here nobody in France, not even the Cardinal or the king, knows that this room even exists. This way you'll have the advantage against the guards."

D'artagnan opened his mouth to ask another question but all that came out was a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Go back to sleep boy," said Athos as he took the cup from Porthos and placed it on the table, "We'll have food brought in next time you wake up."

"Not tired though," groused D'artagnan even as he felt his body turn lethargic and Aramis guiding him back down to his pillow.

"If you're not tired then you must be feeling pretty damn lazy or bored to put yourself to sleep," joked Porthos, always the fool. He achieved his goal though as a small smile lit up D'artagnan's tired face. Right before he succumbed to the welcoming darkness he managed to get one more sentence out.

"Thanks…for…finding…me…" The last word was barely whispered loud enough for the others to hear as D'artagnan's breath evened out into gentle rhythms and he fell asleep.

* * *

When D'artagnan woke again hours later, he was alone. Feeling much better than before he quickly sat up only to fall back down from a dizzy spell and the flare of pain from his forgotten injuries. When the world stopped spinning, D'artagnan sat up more slowly this time and checked his injuries. Somebody, he suspected Aramis, had changed the bandages.

The sudden combination of a growl and a twinge in his gut told D'artagnan that his stomach decided he slept long enough and was demanding food and that nature was calling him. After relieving himself in the available bucket and dumping its contents into the alley outside, he left it on the window sill to air out before slowly walking back to the bed so as to not jar his side. Once he settled back into bed against the headboard, he pulled the tray of food that had been left for him over and set it on his knees.

The smell was so delicious that D'artagnan knew if he had been standing when he removed the coverings on the plates his knees would have given out. Two, thick pork chops sautéed in butter and lemon and seasoned with garlic, salt, and pepper, cheesy mashed potatoes with salt and pepper, and an ear of corn with melted butter sat on the main plate. To the left was a smaller bowl of tomato soup with basil and oregano mixed in with four little crackers sitting on the side. To the right was an even smaller plate filled with bread slices and cheese slices. Above that was another plate the same size filled with vinegar and oil with cracked pepper and garlic on top, and a smaller bowl filled with melted butter. A bottle of wine, a jug of water, and two cups sat on the table where the tray had been **(2)**.

D'artagnan took his time savoring each bite despite the urge to scarf it all down as fast as he could. The last four weeks of not eating properly melted away little by little as D'artagnan slowly ate his fill. By the time he finished the food was all gone, the water jug was empty, the bottle of wine was three quarters empty, and D'artagnan felt full and sleepy again. After arranging his dirty dishes to be taken away and relieving his bladder one more time he crawled back into bed and fell asleep, happy to be home once again.

* * *

The chirping and singing of the birds woke D'artagnan the following morning bright and early. He sat up to wipe the sleep from his eyes and they widened when he realized that he wasn't in pain anymore. He quickly jerked his shirt up and smiled widely when he saw only a faint scar amongst the pink flesh.

"You're awake." D'artagnan looked up and smiled at Aramis as he pulled his reading glasses off and set them with his book on the chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better. Does this little scar mean that I can finally get out of this room? I'm going crazy in here! I may have to put myself out of my misery just to end the pain! Oh, woe is me!" exclaimed D'artagnan dramatically as he thrust an imaginary knife into his chest and fell back onto his pillow, playful spasms and twitches violently dancing through his whole body. Aramis watched all this with great amusement and laughter threatening to break loose.

"Oh my, look at this," drawled Aramis in a bored voice as if he was used to seeing people stab themselves in front of him. "A dead body, and a rather handsome one at that. Whatever shall I do with it?" D'artagnan's lips twitched slightly as he struggled to keep still and in character. "A young man this handsome must have a lady friend out there. Oh dear, she will be so sadden by her lover's death. The news will have to be broken to her gently," continued Aramis as he slowly began to walk to the door, "and she will need a man's comfort to help wipe away her tears, draw her grief away for a short amount of time…"

D'artagnan couldn't keep still any longer. "The hell you will priest!" he shouted with a laugh as he charged Aramis' back.

The priest had been expecting D'artagnan to break character soon and was ready for the attack. He spun around at the last minute and caught the boy around the waist. D'artagnan wormed himself out of the priest's grip and made a second lunge at him, this time for a headlock. Aramis ducked under D'artagnan's outstretched arms and swept the boy's feet out from under hm. Quick as a cat pouncing on a mouse Aramis had D'artagnan flipped over on his stomach, his arms bound behind his back by one of Aramis' hand, and the priest sitting on his legs.

"Do you yield boy?" he mocked teasingly. D'artagnan shook his head.

"Ha! Not for all the gold in the world! Try harder than that," D'artagnan quirked back with a cocky smirk. Aramis merely arched an eyebrow and a mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The cocky smile D'artagnan had grew smaller at the look on Aramis' face and suddenly noticed the absence of the priest's second hand. D'artagnan's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Aramis don't you dare-" The rest of D'artagnan's warning was cut off as the boy bit his lips to prevent any noise from escaping him. Aramis dug his hand into the boy's side, his fingers dancing madly as he tried to get some noise out of D'artagnan.

"All you have to do is beg me to stop," said Aramis in a sing-song voice, "and we can get out of here and go join the festival."

D'artagnan shook his head despite the pain that was worsening in his stomach and his lip from biting it to stay quiet. He could finally hold it in no longer and allowed his mouth to fall open and let the sound out **(3)**.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Oh God! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Aramis please stop! Ha! Ha! Ha! I give! I give! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Just please stop! Ha! Ha!" D'artagnan managed to choke out between his laughter and tears. Indeed, Aramis had been tickling D'artagnan for the past two minutes straight while pinning him down so he couldn't escape. Hearing D'artagnan's cry of defeat Aramis released him and fluidly got to his feet. He smiled good- naturedly down at the defeated boy while he tried to catch his breath.

"You…are…a complete…and utter…bastard Aramis," panted D'artagnan as he got to his feet to face his friend who shrugged.

"Perhaps, but I'm a charming bastard."

D'artagnan merely rolled his eyes and took his cloak and hat from atop the dresser.

"So we're going to a festival right now?" he asked as he donned the two articles of clothing and pulled his gloves on, "what about Porthos and Athos?" He winced, hoping he didn't sound too eager about Athos. If Aramis noticed D'artagnan's tone he didn't comment on it.

"Porthos is on guard duty till one o'clock," said Aramis as they walked through the Louvre, "and Athos is taking care of some personal business in Calais. He'll probably be back by tonight." So that only gave D'artagnan a few hours to figure out why Athos said the things he said. The younger musketeer sighed as he rubbed his forehead.

"You okay?" asked Aramis.

"Yeah. Just eager to get out of here and back with civilization." Aramis raised an eyebrow but didn't push the subject. They came to the heavy oak doors of the Louvre but Aramis stopped his companion from opening them.

"D'artagnan." He waited for the boy to face him before giving him another warm smile. "Welcome home."

The boy said nothing, but the returned smile and slight sheen to his eyes were all the responses that Aramis needed.

* * *

The festival taking place was actually in fact _Mardi Gras_ and it was in full swing when Aramis and D'artagnan stepped out onto the street. Everybody was dressed up to the nines in full elaborate costumes and masks of all colors and shapes. Feathers, jewels, ribbons and sequins decorated the masks and costumes making the wearers appear as though from another world. Gentlemen dressed in costumes from suave, debonair Casanovas that oozed charm and sex appeal to babbling, drunk clowns that had humor and sexual innuendo flowing from their mouths as easily as the wine they drank flowed in the opposite direction. Ladies were dressed as elegant, tasteful angels and dolls that made others afraid to touch them lest they be dirtied or broken to brash, fiery vixens that drew men to them like moths to a flame with a few sultry smiles and flirtatious winks. Children everywhere were dressed in either homemade outfits or ones that were rented out to them. There were multiple stalls where craftsmen and artists sold their work for adults and children, and stalls that had activities for the children to indulge themselves in. Craftsmen and artists sold straw- woven baskets and figurines, leather, pottery, jewelry, glass figurines, metal fake crowns and tiaras, masks, clothing, shoes, accessories, even home furniture. Other stalls for games and entertainment were set up as well; there was even a dunk tank set up where anybody was allowed inside for twenty minutes. There were even stalls with games and activities just for children spread out amongst the festival ranging from jump rope contests to face painting. There was also a stall set up for the females to get their hair braided into the most twisted and elaborate designs with flowers, ribbons, and beads as well **(4)**.

And the food. _'Good Lord,'_ thought D'artagnan to himself, '_there's enough food here to feed all of France with a year's supply to spare.'_ The food was being served in an area separate from the rest of the festivities as a way to prevent the crafts and games from being ruined by the food and smoke from the furnaces, and so that it would be easier for the city folk to mingle and visit one another while they ate. The day was sunny with a few clouds but the temperature was borderline chilly with the occasional wind blowing; this was fortunate for those cooking the food since the city folk would want something hot to drink, and the fruit and sweets they had set out wouldn't spoil. Chickens, pigs, lamb, cow, even fish were roasted on spits or cooked on a pan or tray over an open fire where the people could see. Breads of all types and flavors were being baked in huge stone ovens that must have taken six men to move. Fruits and vegetables were being washed, dried, and inspected before being set aside in large baskets to be used in other dishes. Desserts and sweets both from France and outside of it were made nonstop to appease both the sugar-greedy children and even the adults who had a sweet tooth. Beer, ale, brandy, water, wine, even champagne filled the cup of every citizen at the festival, and there was such a demand for more and more alcohol that others feared they would run out. The prepared food was set out on long massive tables like an enormous buffet with more cooks watching the food and serving up what was desired. Children workers and assistants to the cooks were continuously running back and forth between the main stores and the festival for supplies like flour, eggs, spices, molasses, more alcohol, and others to keep the food processing going and keep the people happy **(5)**.

The live entertainment was the proverbial cherry on top of D'artagnan's day of enjoyment. Men on stilts walked around in very long and elaborate costumes to hide the stilts; some were playing instruments or shaking hands with the city folk. Jugglers equipped with wooden poles, rings, knives, lit torches, even cannon balls were spread out throughout the festival, there were few mimes here and there, and there were a few comedic shows scheduled every half an hour **(6)**.

"Oh…my…God."

"Impressive isn't it?" D'artagnan could only nod as he turned his head left and right, trying to see as much of the festival as he could in one look.

"The festivals and village celebrations at home have nothing on this." The older musketeer laughed good naturedly as he watched the boy run to the nearest stand which was selling leather masks shaped like animal faces. A fraternal smile touched his lips as he watched D'artagnan first become a crow, then an eagle, and other animals. Aramis chuckled at the wide eyed childish awe on D'artagnan's face as they moved through the festival; very rarely did D'artagnan ever truly act his age or even show that he was still merely an eighteen year old farm boy. It did Aramis and the others good to see that D'artagnan still possessed the naivety and innocence of a boy his age.

It irked them however that D'artagnan still believed that he had to prove himself to his older colleagues when he already had and then some. Between standing up to Rochefort and Jussac and later killing Rochefort, standing up to and fighting the Cardinal's guards the first day he was in town, helping clear the queen's name when they retrieved her diamonds, and just all around standing up for three of them all the time.

The other former members of the musketeers had not been as welcoming towards the boy since he came to Paris though. The majority of the older musketeers, older than even Porthos, saw the boy as foolish and idealistic. While Porthos and Athos truly had no real feelings about the boy being dead at the end of the day thanks to his recklessness, the older musketeers truly did expect his "luck" to run out and for him to die soon. To them D'artagnan's big heart, his need for fairness in a fight, and his streak for being honorable were seen as weaknesses, and the boy himself was seen as a child with foolish dreams.

Even some of the older musketeers who were closer to D'artagnan's age still treated him coldly. It burned them with jealousy and envy that a boy four to six years their junior, and a farm boy on top of that, became a probationary musketeer after one mission to save the queen. Some of them were born to higher ranking families and those families had paid good money to pay for the physician's bills when their boys were injured in training, spars or on missions. Those who were born within the middle class families had to work even harder to join the ranks and gain respect from their superiors. And yet some child, a _poor farm boy_, became part of the musketeer corps after showing a few fancy sword techniques, taking on a small group of the Cardinal's guards, and one measly mission.

It had been on more than one occasion that Athos, Porthos, or Aramis had to verbally defend the boy against their other colleagues, even having to step into the fights to prevent bloodshed. Several of the younger ones actually switched from the King's musketeers to join the Cardinal's guards as an excuse to attack D'artagnan whenever they felt like it. It took one conversation between Louis and Richelieu to remove the young men from France's military permanently as a reminder to the other musketeers: attacking a fellow musketeer in any shape or form will _not _be tolerated. The others did back off D'artagnan after that but it didn't stop the dirty looks and snide comments. The rest of them just pretended like the boy didn't exist at all. If anything this angered his comrades even further. When they questioned D'artagnan's sanity after he told them to let it go, he gave them a simple answer that made him sound much more mature than a boy his age should be.

"They're not important to me, so why would I care about what their opinions of me are?"

A shriek of surprise brought Aramis out of his thoughts and he almost laughed out loud at the scene in front of him. D'artagnan was sitting in the dunk tank dripping wet with his cat mask still on, an apple in his mouth, and the most adorable pout on his face **(7)**. Aramis suddenly wished he could have that image painted to keep forever, but he knew that D'artagnan would never forgive him if he did.

"Enjoy your youth and innocence while you still have it D'artagnan," whispered Aramis as he fondly watched the boy try to gather as much of his fallen dignity as he could, "a lot of people are going to be really upset when you're older."

* * *

The duo continued walking through the festival, enjoying each other's company and enjoying their surroundings. They stopped to admire several of the arts and crafts the artisans had set out, played a couple of the games even though the prizes were more suited to the children, and chatted amongst the rest of the city folk. Along with the mask D'artagnan also bought five leather journals to document his missions and life in Paris, a bracelet and perfume for Constance, a jester's hat for Porthos, and a book of prayers for different occasions for Aramis; he knew that the former priest could recite over fifty different prayers with ease, but it never hurt to see if Aramis could learn a new one. D'artagnan wasn't sure what to get Athos though; he wasn't even sure he wanted to give the man anything at all. From what D'artagnan had heard the man was in no mood with him to accept anything from him, especially not a cheap gift from a festival. And if Athos thought him to be a burden then he certainly wouldn't accept anything from him.

'_That's not true though,' _said the little voice in the back of his mind, _'have you already forgotten all the times he's helped you in the past?'_

"Then how do you explain what he said about me when I was sick?" mumbled D'artagnan so Aramis wouldn't hear him.

'_A simple misunderstanding perhaps?' _D'artagnan snorted disbelievingly._ 'You were delirious and weak from your injuries and the fever. And in that state you mistook Athos' words and anger for yourself since you're so used to him speaking that way to you.'_

"And what if you are wrong?"

'_If I am, then you need to show him that you are not what he claims you to be: foolish.'_

D'artagnan willed the voice with a mental shake of his head. He didn't need to start going crazy so early in his life. He pondered on the silent conversation he had with himself as he and Aramis continued to walk through the festival. They were approaching a blacksmith's stand when D'artagnan came to a decision.

"Aramis? Why don't you go on ahead and meet up with Porthos? I need to get one more thing from the blacksmith."

"You sure?" asked Aramis, "You know where to find us?" D'artagnan arched an eyebrow with a teasing smirk.

"Porthos will be the loud, boisterous fool with women and servants bringing him more food and wine every half an hour. You'll be the suave charmer seducing women in front of their husbands with a glass of wine in one hand and a handkerchief in the other." He ducked under Aramis' halfhearted grab and disappeared into the crowd

"Cheeky little brat!" Aramis called after him, D'artagnan's ringing laughter the only answer. Chuckling quietly to himself Aramis went in search of Porthos.

* * *

"You sure you can have this ready before the fireworks tonight?"

"Of course I can boy," said the blacksmith as he read the request written by D'artagnan, "It's going to cost you a pretty coin, but I can have this done by tonight." D'artagnan pulled the sack of gold inside his jacket out and set it in front of the man.

"I trust this will be more than enough?" asked D'artagnan mildly. He smirked a little as the man's eyes widened at the amount of gold on the table. "Have a good day monsieur," D'artagnan said as he walked away to join his friends for dinner.

"Boy! Your change!" called the blacksmith after him, but the boy was already swallowed up by the crowd. "Strange kid," he muttered to himself before barking out orders to his assistants for tools and supplies from the store.

* * *

When D'artagnan reached the dining area to meet his friends the entire place was crawling with people either at the huge buffet line or sitting at picnic tables or on blankets on the ground. Everybody there had at least one plate full of food and a cup with a drink inside. Laughter and talking filled the air and the atmosphere was pleasant and friendly. D'artagnan loaded himself a plate and grabbed a cup of wine before settling himself in the cool shade of a tree to eat. He had just finished his last drop of wine before some of the children that lived near his apartment complex and a few other children asked him to play. Confident that the mask he still wore wouldn't give himself away D'artagnan burned off the energy the food gave him, happy that he was finally able to act his own age without having to worry about anything else.

Or so he thought.

"Good Lord that's embarrassing. Having to lower oneself to the level of babes and toddlers to have fun? Such shame!" D'artagnan and the children turned at the sound of the voice to see Armande Durandus, the youngest count in eastern France, with five of his companions alongside him. D'artagnan motioned to the children to leave without taking an eye off of Armande.

This guy was bad news; he was the type of person who judged others based on wealth and looks, and sometimes even those people were treated horribly. Anybody else below that level of class was seen an uncultured and a waste of space. D'artagnan had even heard rumors of him striking a peasant woman because her son had accidently splashed some mud on his boots, and beating an old beggar man in an alleyway because he had gotten in Armande's way.

"Durandus…what can I do for you?" asked D'artagnan, his voice cool and even to hide the burning anger he felt whenever he looked at this person.

"It is _Count _Durandus to you farm boy," he sneered as he took in D'artagnan's dirtied boots and trousers and sweaty shirt. D'artagnan merely raised an eyebrow in a near perfect form of Athos.

"Titles don't decide a battle, _Durandus_. Nor does it make a person better than others in the sight of God." D'artagnan spoke in a calm and slow voice, as though he were explaining something to a child. Armande curled his upper lip in disgust at the younger boy in front of him. He had tried on more than one occasion to get D'artagnan in enough trouble to get him kicked out of the musketeer corps to teach him to know his place. A poor farm boy amongst the ranks to guard the king?! Absurd! Only those of reputation and class were allowed to even try to go through the auditions and training to get in. It was embarrassing enough that a former pirate, a lecherous ex-priest, and an old drunkard were part of the King's musketeers, but the farm boy was the final straw that broke the camel's back.

"You have no place here," he hissed out suddenly, surprising the nearby people with the amount of venom in his voice, "and someone of your class especially has no place amongst the King's musketeers!" The crowd that they were starting to attract gasped softly. They were poor and dirty yes, but they weren't fools contrary to popular belief. They knew that the young lad had trouble fitting in with his new colleagues aside from the Three Inseparables, but they didn't realize how bad it was. It made sense now though as they thought back to all the times some of them had seen some of either the much older musketeers ignore the lad whenever he was near, or the younger ones only several years older than D'artagnan openly sneer at him and talk to him coldly. To their surprise D'artagnan showed no outward response to Armande's words, which only infuriated the young count even more. This also drove him to continue his insults as the two of them began to circle each other like wolves, neither one taking an eye off of the other.

"I mean, really! One battle against the Cardinal's guards and some simple mission to England and suddenly you're part of the musketeers! How is that fair to the rest of us who have worked our fingers to the bone, shed blood, and have _broken _our bones to get to where we are today?!"

The city folk were shocked at the open tantrum that the young count was throwing; normally he just whined and moaned until he got his way with the older musketeers or other people. There were some of them who agreed with the count's words however: that D'artagnan had gotten in on pure luck with no ounce of real talent while the rest of them agreed that it was D'artagnan's bravery and determination that earned him Monsieur Treville's respect.

"Careful there Durandus," mocked D'artagnan evenly, "one would almost think that you're being jealous right now." This caused Armande's face to go from red to an impressive shade of purple.

"I am most certainly not jealous, especially of you!" he spat. D'artagnan merely rolled his eyes in boredom. "It is embarrassing enough to have a scrappy farm boy," raged Armande, "who waves his word around recklessly and uncoordinatedly as part of the musketeers, but we also have a lazy drunkard, an ex-priest who couldn't keep to his vows, and an overgrown, idiotic man-child!"

D'artagnan's bored look suddenly took on a hard edge and his eyes turned steely. But Armande didn't notice this as he continued to slander the names of those D'artagnan considered closest to his heart to anyone who could hear. Armande's anger left him blind to D'artagnan's ever increasing rage as the other boy threw barbs and jabs at the Three Inseparables for all of Paris to hear.

"Porthos? He must have frightened some poor families so much they worried about the safety of their children's lives when he was around. Then Monsieur Treville must have taken him in to curb that temper of his. Not like it has done much good anyway!" he laughed hatefully while his comrades nodded along with every word he said. D'artagnan's eyes narrowed and sharpened even further. Some of the people watching the argument were sickened that Armande would use Porthos' temper as an excuse to accuse the man of being dangerous when they had only seen him unleash it on the Cardinal's guards and on his enemies.

"Aramis? Ha! The only reason that man is an ex-priest is because he couldn't help himself and had to go around deflowering every young maiden he came across in the churches and in the towns including the nuns!"

A dagger slipped down D'artagnan's sleeve into his hand which he clenched tightly behind his back. If there was one thing he knew about Aramis it was that he had taken his job as a priest very seriously, and would never do anything to break his vows unless he walked away from the priesthood. He also treated every female he met, be they eight or eighty, with respect and manners. What he did with his women in his room was his business only.

"And Athos?! The bastard's so drunk the majority of the time it's a miracle he can even pick up his sword."

D'artagnan's fist tightened around the handle of the dagger until his knuckles turned white and his nails threatened to make his palm bleed. His entire body was tense, even more so than a bowstring drawn back at its furthest point. The crowd was both sickened and angered at what they were hearing. How could one musketeer speak so harshly about his comrades like that? And they were his superiors as well in skill and rank! One thing for sure was certain: Armande Durandus no longer had any support from the city folk, and it wouldn't be long before he lost whatever little support he had in the musketeer corps.

"That's why that wife of his left him you," Armande said as he turned to face D'artagnan, "she finally got fed up with him being completely worthless and not amounting to anything."

D'artagnan felt something in him snap.

"I say good for her; it was only a matter of time before he couldn't keep his temper and drinking from mixing together and from taking it out on her."

A flood of white hot anger and rage washed over him, filling him up till he was certain he could feel it leaking out of his skin.

"I would watch yourself if I were you farm boy," said Armande with a nasty smile, "I mean, you do live with these men after all."

D'artagnan's instincts were chanting one word over and over again as his anger grew from the continuous jabs at his friends.

"Porthos, with his temper, would probably come after you if you make him angry enough; hell, he'll probably put you in the emergency care of a physician."

_Kill._

"Aramis, with his past experiences and knowledge of women and sex, is sure to have gotten bored with the same type of women throwing themselves at him. Who knows farm boy, perhaps he has…switched…his tastes around."

_Kill!_

"Athos. Heh, with that drinking habit of his he'll probably beat Aramis to it and get you piss drunk before getting you into his bed. Plenty of men like him at his age like that kind of thing now."

_KILL!_

In a move so fast only Aramis himself could have taught him, D'artagnan threw the dagger behind his back and watched it sink into Armande's right shoulder. In the time that it took for his friends to react D'artagnan had already thrown the first punch. One went down for the count as the other four drew their swords and charged him. Despite the red haze of anger over his mind his animal instincts commanded his body to dodge every sword thrust and strike and deliver his own in return. They each went down one by one before D'artagnan stopped. He didn't kill them but he did give them a beating they won't ever forget. D'artagnan turned his gaze to the shaking Armande who had placed a shaking hand around the knife still sitting in his shoulder.

"You bastard! Don't come near me!" D'artagnan said nothing as he stalked forward, increasing Armande's fear. "Didn't you hear?! I said don't come near me!" D'artagnan continued forward. "You are nothing farm boy!" shouted Armande with a frightened and desperate laugh, "You were nothing when you were born and you are nothing now! I! I am royalty! I mean something in this city! I'm important! I'm your superior! You can't touch me! Not without endangering your precious family or friends! I am-!"

BAM!

Armande hit the dirt hard and he cried out in pain when D'artagnan's knife slipped out of his shoulder. He clasped his hand over the wound to stop the bleeding though it seemed to do little good. He grunted in pain and surprise when he was kicked over onto his back and met cold and rage filled blue eyes that so resembled Athos'. D'artagnan's body was trembling with anger and the compelling need to rip Armande's heart out with his hand and make the bastard watch it stop beating. Armande was paralyzed with fear as he watched D'artagnan approach him and kneel next to his body.

"You are such a fool Durandus," said D'artagnan. His voice was calm and loud enough for the still watching crowd to hear what he was saying. His body had stopped its trembling, but the underlining rage was still visible to see. "You are so self-absorbed you fail to realize that it is you who is the embarrassment." Armande huffed with indignation, but D'artagnan continued before he could say a word. "You walk around Paris like a high and mighty peacock and because you're a count you expect people to bow down and respect you because of it, and you expect to use that title to not get hurt or to stay alive in your fights. And when people don't you whine, throw a fit, and then send your lackeys out to beat or kill the people as a lesson to others. You talk down to those of both your class level and lower, you attack women and old men because you feel like you're within your rights to do so, you're arrogant, impetuous, and you have an attitude that will get you killed by sundown." He heard a snort of laughter behind him but didn't turn around. Armande spoke up with traces of his previous anger in his voice.

"What does that make you then, huh? We've all heard your precious Porthos call you all those things and then some on multiple occasions! What does that say about you then?! What makes you think you're so different, so much better than me and the rest of the musketeer corps?!"

D'artagnan's face and eyes became emotionless, the previous fire and brimstone raging in them gone. The area was quiet, the crowd waiting with baited breath to find out how D'artagnan would defend himself now. He reached a hand towards Armande whose eyes grew wider with fear at the approaching limb. Certain that the boy was going for his throat Armande shut his eyes, his face scrunched up in fear as he awaited the end. He was surprised when D'artagnan bypassed him to pick up the fallen dagger. Grabbing a handful of Armande's shirt he wiped away the blood and dirt staining it.

"I have never once acted like I was better than the rest of you," said D'artagnan as he slipped the dagger back into his sleeve, "you all came to that conclusion on your own for whatever your own reasons are. I may share those last three qualities with you Durandus, but the difference between us is that I am all too aware of what my qualities are, the good and the bad. But you don't, and when somebody points your flaws out you respond in a violent manner. The other difference between us Durandus," said D'artagnan as he stood up with his arms crossed, "is that contrary to popular belief I do know how to keep my mouth shut when it's appropriate; you don't."

D'artagnan picked up his mask that had fallen during the short scuffle and retrieved his other belongings before donning his hat, cloak and gloves. Without turning around he spoke again in a low voice.

"Keep this in mind Durandus, and be sure to spread the word to the rest of the scum that you associate with: Athos, Porthos, and Aramis are off limits. If I hear one word of ill intent or slander towards them, well, I'll be sure to aim a few inches to your left next time."

Having said that D'artagnan walked out of the clearing, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea and he disappeared into the festival, leaving behind a humiliated count and two bemused friends who had watched the entire thing.

* * *

D'artagnan stalked through the crowds towards the apartment complex he shared with his friends, his nerves high and alert and his blood still pumping hot and fast. He prayed that he didn't come across the Cardinal's guards or some other poor soul because he knew that with his temper so close to the surface he may end up killing them. He quickened his pace when the apartments came into view at the same time he spotted red and black uniforms out of the corner of his eyes. He threw the door open and was immensely grateful that he was alone. Athos was possibly still on his way back and Planchet was probably still back at the festival along with Aramis and Porthos. He felt bad for just leaving them without saying anything, but he had a feeling that word of what had happened already reached their ears as well as Monsieur Treville's.

D'artagnan sighed as he grabbed the un-open bottle of wine sitting on the table and disappeared into his room. Dropping his hat, cloak, gloves and sword on his desk he stored his purchases under the bed, kicked his boots off and fell back on his bed before taking a swig at the bottle. The evens of the day were already taking their toll on him... Had it really only been this morning that he woke up in the Louvre? Only after consuming half the bottle did D'artagnan finally succumb to sleep.

* * *

Athos wiped a dollop of sweat from his brow as he tied Adelard **(8) **next to the other horses. He grumbled to himself angrily as the loud sounds of the festival and city folk shattered the normally silent neighborhood he lived in. All he wanted was to come home to a warm cup of wine, some dinner, and _maybe _interact with the boy and the others. But no. He had completely forgotten that Lent was approaching, and with Lent came Mardi Gras. Now he had to deal with everybody that lived nearby being louder and more drunk than usual.

He walked inside hoping to find the bottle of wine he told Planchet to leave out for him when he returned home, but frowned when he saw that table empty. There was a sudden crash upstairs followed by drunken cursing. Athos drew his sword and made his way upstairs quietly. There was a second crash, this time in the direction of D'artagnan's room. Heart pounding, Athos rushed into the boy's room and had to fight the growing smirk on his face as he took in the scene before him.

D'artagnan was lying on the floor, legs tangled in the bed sheets, soaking wet. From what Athos could see D'artagnan had rolled out of bed by accident when he got his legs tangled up in the sheets. When he went to stand up he tried to find something to steady himself and accidentally upset the water basin next to his bed, resulting in the soaked disposition and multiple curses. All traces of amusement were wiped away though when he saw the missing bottle of wine on its side on the floor, replaced with annoyance and anger. D'artagnan managed to roll over onto his back to meet Athos' upside down stern gaze.

"Heeeeyyy Athoooos…when yooooouuuusss…get baaaack?"

Good Lord the boy was piss drunk.

"What the hell are you doing boy?" asked Athos irritably. His eyebrow twitched when D'artagnan burst out laughing. Athos growled when D'artagnan rolled on the floor clutching his ribs as he continued to laugh.

"Yooou're faaaace Athooosss…soooo funnnnyyyyy!" Snarling like an angry bear Athos stalked forward and in one smooth action had D'artagnan thrown over his shoulder like a sack of grain and walked towards their bathroom. Dumping the boy into the tub he grabbed the bucket that was always full of water for the bath and dumped it all over the boy. The icy cold water worked quickly in sobering D'artagnan up who let loose a new litany of curses that could have only come from Porthos. Sputtering and shivering D'artagnan gave Athos a glare, who leveled one of his own complete with a raised eyebrow.

"A bit early in the festivities for you to be getting drunk?" asked Athos as he handed him a towel. D'artagnan gave the man a deadpanned look.

"You want to be the pot or the kettle?" Athos snorted as D'artagnan walked past him for his bedroom.

"Where's Porthos and Aramis?" he asked as he leaned against the wall next to the doorway, but not looking in; the boy did deserve his privacy even though the four of them had nothing to hide or be ashamed of. It wasn't uncommon to see at least one of them wandering around the house in various states of undress.

"Left them with the wives and wine; they were about two cups away from being drunk and three sentences away from being caught," said D'artagnan as he walked out of the room, rubbing the towel on his head. "Idiots. Both of them," he continued as he headed back downstairs. Athos hummed in amusement and agreement and followed the lad downstairs. D'artagnan had sat down at the table with his head in his arms like he was going back to sleep. Athos poured the remaining wine in the bottle into a cup and poured some water for D'artagnan before sitting next to the fireplace. The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence that was broken by the sounds of the festival in the distance and some of their neighbors returning home.

"Did your business in Calais go smoothly?" asked D'artagnan without opening his eyes. Athos raised an eyebrow but when he detected only mild curiosity he answered.

"Yes, it did."

"Good," said D'artagnan as he readjusted his arms, "I was about to yank my hair out after the first day of dealing with them." He lifted his head up and met Athos' amused look with his own playful, exasperated one, "Never shall I ever make fun of you for having them as roommates." Athos hmphed with a tiny smirk on his face and D'artagnan laid his head back down.

"Laaaaaadiiiieeeessss! We're home!" Athos and D'artagnan both groaned when the door burst open.

"There goes the peace," grumbled Athos as he finished off the wine in one gulp.

Porthos sauntered into the house in very high spirits followed by Aramis with a mellower attitude. Porthos was very red in the face from all the wine he had consumed earlier, he had multiple fake necklaces that had to have come from his female companions, and he was clutching…a giant teddy bear in his arms? Aramis didn't look much better; his clothes and hair were in disarray, his cheeks were red as well from the wine, and he had…_kiss marks_ on his neck?

Athos raised an eyebrow at his friends but didn't say anything as they both went into detail of what had taken place after Athos had left for Calais. D'artagnan threw in a comment from time to time but he mostly kept quiet as he rested his head on the table. They could all feel the embarrassment rolling off of him as Porthos and Aramis told Athos all about his adventures when he was gone from the first date D'artagnan had taken Constance on to the showdown that took place just a few hours ago between the boy and Count Durandus. Athos was annoyed at the recklessness of D'artagnan but glowed with warmth on the inside when he heard how passionately D'artagnan defended the three of them.

They were interrupted by Planchet's return home from the festival which saved D'artagnan from further embarrassing stories from Porthos and Aramis. He welcomed his master home but Athos only waved him off and was presented with his dinner. Porthos was about to demand for his own but Aramis came to the poor servant's rescue by reminding Porthos that he had gotten enough at the festival along with himself. Bowing his head and stuttering out his gratitude Planchet bid them all good night and retreated to his room while Porthos grumbled next to D'artagnan.

They began to exchange stories of their day at Mardi Gras while Athos ate and only spoke of a few minor instances while he was in Calais. It was after Athos finished eating and they broke open a new bottle of wine that D'artagnan asked what had been bothering him since he woke up.

"What happened after I passed out at the city gates?" Their looks all turned grave at the boy's question. D'artagnan frowned a little at their faces and looked from one to the other. "What? What happened to me?"

Aramis was the first to speak up after the look on his face disappeared.

"When the musketeers had found you D'artagnan, they thought you were dead at first. It was," Aramis hurried to explain after seeing the boy's stricken face, "because they had found you with blood all over and all around you, you looked like you hadn't eaten in a week, and you were flushed from a fever." D'artagnan sat back in his chair in shock; he knew he had probably looked bad because he didn't eat or sleep too much since he was in a hurry to come home, and he may have taken a nasty hit or two from those bandits, but did he really come out looking like the way Aramis described him? Seeing the boy's confused face Porthos asked him about the mission to clear up some things.

"It was a normal escort mission. I got the client home safely, and was on my way home when I saw huge storm clouds starting to form behind me. I still had about three days before I would make it back to Paris, and if I got caught up in the storm I would have been stuck out there for a few extra weeks. Since it's flood season all the roads would have been impossible to journey on and traveling off the roads to get here would still have taken just as long. So I pushed Alexandre harder than normal so that I would make it back home in time."

D'artagnan looked at their faces as he finished his story; Porthos looked both worried and proud, Aramis anxious and happy, and Athos annoyed and upset. But there was one emotion that all three of them share that filled D'artagnan with warmth: relief. Relief because he was still alive, safe at home or recovered he wasn't sure, but he was happy to see this from all three of them.

"I only hurried home because I didn't want to worry any of you; heh, guess I still failed though."

Knocking at the door prevented the others from responding to D'artagnan; he made his way over to the door before they could call for Planchet and opened it to find a smaller boy holding a package in his arms.

"Yous be Monsieur D'artagnan sir?" D'artagnan nodded and the boy handed his package over to the older boy, "Old man Jean da blacksmithee ask me da deliver dis to ya." D'artagnan pulled the cloth back a little in curiosity and smiled when he saw the contents inside. He tossed the kid a gold coin for his service.

"Thanks kid, have a good night."

"Yous too sir!" said the younger boy excitedly as he clutched the coin in his fist like it was a gift from God himself and disappeared into the streets.

"Whatcha got here lad? A gift from a certain lady friend perhaps?" asked Porthos as he wiggled his eyebrows. D'artagnan rolled his eyes with a smirk.

"Hardly Porthos," said D'artagnan as he moved towards the stairs, "it's just some extra stuff I bought at the festival." Then he disappeared upstairs before the others could catch him with another question. D'artagnan stayed upstairs for the next hour while the other three quietly talked amongst themselves about random subjects. It was when they heard the first BOOM in the sky that D'artagnan came running downstairs with excitement written all over his face.

"It's finally starting!" he managed to get out before he tore out of the apartment like lightning. Athos mumbled under his breath about children while Porthos and Aramis laughed good naturedly at the boy's actions as they got up to follow him. By the time that they found him D'artagnan had found himself a tree branch to sit on that wasn't' covered by the top branches or leaves to watch the fireworks. He had only heard stories from his father and Porthos and Aramis about the shows that fireworks were made to put on and the different types that were used. Seeing in person though was better than any of the stories he had heard.

He was so enraptured- by the fireworks that he missed the warm glances Athos continued to send him throughout the show. The boy always tried to prove himself to the other musketeers them and he acted like he was five years older, but seeing him right now act the eighteen year old he truly was gave Athos some sort of peace of mind and comfort. He would enjoy it while he could because come the morning D'artagnan would be right back to acting like his usual self by trying to put more gray hairs into Athos' hair before his time.

The four of them stayed till the end of the fireworks show which finished off with the biggest amount of explosions and colors that D'artagnan had ever seen. The four friends talked and laughed together the entire walk home even though it was late and the events of the day were beginning to catch up to all of them. When they got home D'artagnan immediately said good night to the other men and wished them luck on their mission to Sweden before disappearing into his room. Porthos and Aramis went to bed right away as well while Athos stayed up for a few more hours with a bottle of wine before heading to bed as well.

* * *

Porthos shut the door to his room and began to strip down for bed. When he went to turn the bed down the jingling of bells startled him into a fighting stance. Calming himself down when nothing attacked right away he lit a candle and swept it over his bed to make an interesting discovery. A jester's hat with green and purple alternating arms and golden bells at the end of each arm sat at the end of his bed with a folded note on top. Porthos sat down and read the note under the faint glow of the candle.

_It is common to see a man act like a fool, but it is rare to see a fool act like a man. Keep making us laugh Porthos; we need it._

_-D'artagnan._

A very large, very warm smile broke out over Porthos' face as he happily tried on the jester's hat, the little gold bells jingling merrily. He was about to blow out the candle when he noticed something that had been lying underneath the hat. It was a dagger that much he could tell by the shape, but it was wrapped up in cloth. He unwrapped it to find a black leather sheath, plain and simple, and the handle of the knife was plain as well as the sheath with black leather wrapping around the handle. But it was the inscriptions on the sides of the blade that got his attention.

_Laughter makes friends, time makes brothers._

On the other side.

_All for one, and one for all. -APAD_

Porthos laughed quietly for a little while, amazed that once again the boy was able to surprise him. He tucked the hat and dagger away and settled down to sleep after blowing the candle out, his quiet laughter echoing around the room.

* * *

It was when he was undressing for bed that Aramis saw the book and cloth covered dagger sitting on the bed. Flipping through the prayer book he was actually surprised to find some prayers that he had never heard of or read before, and some that were extensions of old prayers he already knew. He picked up the note that had fallen out and read it.

_A wise man once told me that it takes courage for a man to ask for help. However, I believe that it takes an even stronger man to speak his mind even if it means endangering his life. These prayers are what other men were brave enough to say in the face of persecution and prejudice to hide their real words. Can you hear their messages?_

_-D'artagnan._

Aramis smiled at the boy thoughtfulness and unwrapped the dagger. It looked plain at first glance, but it was the inscriptions on both sides of the blade that almost made Aramis cry.

_A brother's bond is like water: unbreakable, limitless, and a force of nature._

On the other side.

_All for one, and one for all. -APAD_

It was only after Aramis had safely and securely tucked the book away along with the dagger into his bag and wiped his tears away that he was finally able to fall into an easy slumber, prayers of gratitude sent to God for bringing D'artagnan into their lives.

* * *

The first thing that Athos noticed when he entered his room was D'artagnan sleeping with his back against the side of his bed, arms and legs spread out at awkward angles. If that wasn't questionable enough it was the folded note sitting on top of two wrapped items next to the boy's head that was. On cat like feet Athos crossed the room and lifted the note up. D'artagnan shifted slightly in his sleep; Athos held his breath fearing the boy would wake up and he would have to give an explanation, which was stupid considering this was Athos' room and D'artagnan would be the one that needed to do some explaining. But he only turned his head to face the other direction and continued to sleep.

Sighing in annoyance at the boy's antics Athos opened the note and had to remind himself to gently sit down on the bed as he tried to get his head on straight after he had finished reading it. The letter slipped from his fingers to flutter harmlessly to the floor where it rested, the words lit up by the candlelight.

_Athos,_

_There are a lot of things that a young boy want in life as he grows up: a beautiful wife, a house full of children, a job that he loves, and many other things. What he also wants to achieve are the greatest treasures that life can offer: love, prosperity, friendship, joy, honor, courage, the list goes on. But from whom can he see the perfect example of life? From his father of course. Brothers and mentors make good teachers, but there is no one better than a child's own father._

_Both look towards each other with hope; one wishing to be the other, the other wishing to protect the other. Both teach the other the lessons of life, and how to deal with their hardships. Both also help the other grow in ways that they never thought possible. But most of all, they are always there to calm and chase away the worst fears imaginable._

_I already have a father Athos, but in the months that I have been living with you and Porthos and Aramis I have come to see you as a second father. You're already helping my father teach me how to be a better swordsman; can you help teach me to be a man as well? _

_-D'artagnan_

_PS: I know that it is tradition for a father to pass on the family sword to his son, and that it is also tradition for a new recruit of the musketeer corps to go through a long period of extensive training before going through his trial period. But have you ever known me to be traditional?_

Athos had to swallow the tears that threatened to spill over multiple times before he was able to get a handle on his emotions. His gaze drifted to the young (only eighteen years old goddamnit!), immature, arrogant youth that had turned his world around. Had it really only been less than a year since they had known D'artagnan? It had seemed like so much longer.

Shaking his head to clear the direction his thoughts were heading he stood up from the bed and, with the gentleness and softness of picking up an infant, Athos lifted D'artagnan into his arms and carried him back to his room. D'artagnan shifted slightly at the change but he only snuggled back into Athos' jacket. It was several minutes before Athos was able to return back to his room since he had to extract the surprisingly strong grip D'artagnan's fingers had on his jacket. He covered the boy up with the quilt the boy's mother had sent him this past Christmas and softly closed the door behind him.

Athos picked up the letter and set it on the nightstand next to his bed and pulled the wrapped packages towards him as he sat back down. The first item he unwrapped was a sword, its blade glinting in the moonlight as though it had just been polished a few seconds ago instead of a few hours ago. The handle was wrapped in black leather and had writing on both sides of the blade just like the dagger did.

_A reminder to come home._

On the other side of the dagger.

_All for one, and one for all. -APAD_

_All good men stand together as one, both in life and in death._

On the opposite side of the sword.

_Honor and courage: the true colors of a musketeer. _

Words were simply lost to Athos as he stared at the innocent words engraved into the metal. Word or thought process was impossible for him to manage at this point he was so overwhelmed. Once again D'artagnan had taken his world and turned it upside down. He wasn't sure whether to thank the boy or to throttle him. He gave so much without even asking for anything in return, and it made Athos uneasy.

Athos let out a humorless laugh as he hung his head in his hands. It was like God was making fun of him or getting his revenge on him for something in the past. Ever since D'artagnan had settle in with them it seemed like the boy had made it his personal mission to turn Athos as gray as he could in the fastest way possible. He sighed tiredly before getting up to stash his gifts and the note next to his supplies for the mission the following morning. He got into bed and fell asleep almost immediately, thankful once again for the whirlwind that had come in and swept their lives up in its fury.

D'artagnan.

* * *

***(1) Means "protector of men".**

***(2) Sorry for causing any of you to start drooling on your keyboards. **

***(3) For any of you who were thinking something nasty, shame on you. *sticks tongue out***

***(4), (5), (6) I have no idea how they celebrated certain festivals during this time period; I'm just combining what I've seen at the Renaissance Fair and at the county fair.**

***(7) My first challenge to all of you: kitty D'artagnan pictures! *squeal***

***(8) Means "noble strength".  
**

**Like it? Hate it? Love it? Wipe your ass with it? Let me know!**


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